


Open Flames

by tysonrunningfox



Series: Festerverse [5]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kidfic, Other, and there are many shenanigans, arvelia, feret, if you're here you should know what those mean, it's the story of how feret gets their shit together, not tagging hiccstrid because they get like...some screen time maybe, or second, pregnant kid fic, smingrid, third generation bitches, whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-30 05:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 103,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysonrunningfox/pseuds/tysonrunningfox
Summary: Four years after falling into a volcano at the end of his year long agony of learning who he was and trying to discover who he wants to be, Eret III still isn’t chief.  And he’s still not married to his longtime girlfriend.  And when a betrothal letter from another, new tribe offers a solution to both issues, it sets the next string of events in Eret’s life off a bit…umm, explosively.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Have I gotten a fucking life? No! No, I have not. Here with more Eret, he's 21, saddled with chronic dumb bitch disease, PTSD, and a determination to grow up in the wrong order. I love him.

When I come back from my morning check in at the docks to see the chief sitting at the table and actively writing a document, I can’t help but pause. The title is still official, of course, especially after I’ve been gone so much, but the only person who would argue as to who’s making the rules is Aurelia. That’s because she thinks it’s her, of course, but I don’t think anyone would say that it is well…the chief. 

“What are you up to?” I ask, hanging my axe on the hook by the door and trying to peek over his shoulder at what he’s writing. “Could that be actual work?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised, someone kept things moving around here while you were off picking fights with every ship you saw.” He hides the parchment, hunching over it and pulling it close to his chest in a stupid, elaborate motion like he wants me to ask about it. 

And things are better since he stopped ordering me around, but I still don’t necessarily want to give in right away. 

It’s probably a love note to my mom or something, anyway, and I don’t need to see that. I see enough of their mushy dragon-dung ever since Stoick started teaching at the academy and being gone most of the time. Because apparently, a surly thirteen-year-old is the only thing between them and making out all the time, whether I like it or not, and it’s not hypocritical that Mom doesn’t let Fuse be in my room with the door shut. 

“Almost every ship I saw was a dragon trapper.” 

“The rest were just for fun, right,” he starts folding the parchment theatrically and I see a flash of my name. I really hope it’s not a love note, now, even more than before. “No really, are you here to tell me about another warlord? I just sat down—”

“What’s the paper?” 

“This paper?” He waves it in front of me, dismissive, and I see another rune that makes me pause. 

“Does that say something about marriage on it? Who’s getting married?” I raise an eyebrow, “are you finally going to let me take that over? I saw my name on there too—”

“Not for this one,” he sighs, expression cracking around the edges like it does when he’s about to deliver bad news or critique how I dealt with something. It’s the classic chief ‘if I say this, Eret won’t be my best friend anymore’ face and I don’t like it anymore than I ever have. 

“What’s so special about this one?” 

“Well, it’s not really set in stone yet, but um…” He swallows and winces, the new gray streaks in his eyebrows making the expression heavier somehow. 

“Spit it out,” I laugh, nervous, and gesture at my axe, “are you the one who picked a fight with someone?”

“It’s more like I’m avoiding one—”

“Of course you are,” I snatch the paper out of his hand and unfold it, “what are you trying to give away in the treaty this time? Did Aurelia check this?” 

“She doesn’t know yet—”

“Well, she should look at it before we send anything…” I start skimming, my mouth slowing and stalling when I get to the third paragraph. 

The first two are normal. New tribe, recently broke away from a faction of dragon trappers I…thinned out last fall. They’re looking for allies and offering safe passage on trade routes in exchange for supplies and defense, that’s fine. 

The real kicker appears to be that they’re also offering a princess. 

Which, in response, the chief appeared to think it was a good idea to mention that he had an unmarried firstborn son, which, putting past surprises in the past…must mean me. Interesting. My name is next to the words alliance and marriage. Interesting. 

“Don’t overreact,” he reaches to take the parchment back from me and my hands start shaking as it rumples in my clenching fists. 

“Right, how much of a reaction do you expect to you trying to marry me off?” It starts quiet and ends in a hoarse throated yell, the kind of sound that tears its way out of my throat in the last few swings of a hard fought fight. The kind that hasn’t existed in the chief’s direction since I was a scared little kid who thought being loud could keep things from changing. 

It won’t work now either, but I think if I don’t yell, I might stop breathing. 

“Eret—”

“They aren’t a big tribe, it says they’ve been around all of two months! What could they possibly have that we want enough to trade—”

“It’s what they asked for, Eret, they asked to build a relationship with us, not for a trade.” He sounds like Aurelia, or maybe Aurelia sounds like him, but either way it’s that mincing, stilted tone line if he announces every syllable hard enough, I’ll believe in the power of their blows. “They’re in between us and the mainland, on an island in the middle of a straight—”

“Give them a scauldron then, not your son—”

“You’re twenty-one years old, Eret, you’re chief of Berk—”

“Yeah, ok, you’re making me chief? Fine, this isn’t happening then, first proclamation.” I crumple up the parchment and throw it onto the coals of last night’s fire. It smokes but doesn’t catch and it makes me think of Fuse with a chest deep pang of panic and pain. I have to tell her that he did this before someone else does. 

“You’re going to be chief of Berk, you’re not a kid anymore. You’ve proven you know how fight and wage war, but you haven’t shown any attempt to deal with things peacefully—”

“Yes, slavery to peace through forced marriage,” my voice shakes and my hands shake and I haven’t hated him this much in years. I forgot how out of control it feels, how small it makes me feel. I’m not chief, I can’t refer to him as anything else. It’s who he is, it’s what I’m trying to be, and I know how those conflicts tend to go. Usually I’m on the other side of them. “I don’t have time for this right now, I have to talk to Fuse, she can’t hear this from anyone else—”

“Think through what you’re going to say,” he drops advice like Fuse drops bombs, like he intends for it to dent my resolve, “don’t just go in there—”

“You think I don’t know how to be peaceful, chief?” He visibly flinches from the title turned insult and I can’t help but feel a little vindicated. I could say worse. I could tell him I’m not the one who ran my mom off for twenty years because he couldn’t stomach being wrong. 

I don’t want to hurt him like I want to keep this bullshit from hurting Fuse, though, so it’s not worth it. 

I’m not marrying this random princess, I know that right now, I don’t care if I’m the next one setting up camp on some island and propositioning Berk for trade. Fuse would come with me, Ingrid might too. It’s been too quiet ever since Finn stopped teething and I know she’s itching for something. I get the urge to just fly off, to let the chief deal with the mess he made. 

But no. If Berk goes to war, people get hurt. I’m not going to get married to a stranger to prevent it, but I have to figure out a way that doesn’t get anyone else hurt either. The chief doesn’t get that battle is peaceful, that the bigger the first fight, the fewer wars start. 

“Obviously I need to rewrite that,” he points at the fireplace where the parchment is just starting to blacken around the edges as the slow smoke picks up steam. “But as long as it’s an option, it’ll be in the discussion.” 

“Good to know there’s no expiration on my usefulness to you,” I sigh, “please, let me know what Aurelia thinks of this, I’m sure she’ll be really thrilled that you’d rather auction me off like a yak than give her a chance to talk.” 

He says something else, something that dares to sound like an attempt at advice, but I stomp outside and slam the door behind me anyway. Bang cocks his head at me from where he’s sleeping in the sun and I wave him off, stalking down the hill on the sheep path I’ve worn to the Thorston house.

Just when I think he trusts me. Just when I think he sees me as an adult. I’m sick of it coming in waves, I’m sick of him following me when it’s easy or when he thinks his problems are bigger and taking over as soon as he thinks I need to be reminded of a higher power. This is too far. He messed up this time. Yeah, sure, I don’t care usually. It doesn’t matter if the Snoggletog feast moves forward a few hours or he and Aurelia go on their own diplomatic mission. 

Well, the latter doesn’t matter, because I was the one showing up with an army a day later after he insisted he didn’t need one. 

But this is too far. 

What if someone told Fuse? Even if she knew I didn’t want it, the chief does and that gives it weight. The chief knew long enough to plan some stupid waving around a piece of parchment routine to get me to ask. 

Four years is a long time. Sometimes the memory of me, Arvid, Ingrid, Rolf, Mom, and Dad living in that ramshackle Hofferson house on the far point feels like a dream of a life no one ever had, but right now, I suddenly crave it like water after days adrift. 

Dad likes Fuse but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask if I’m sure like Mom. He doesn’t shove like the chief. 

When I first saw my name and marriage, I thought it would be her. I thought it would be some clueless but harmless attempt to get me to write down what’s solid enough to exist on its own. It’s not that I don’t want to be with Fuse forever, it’s that the chief’s insistence feels like a curse. Whenever he gets his hands on a marriage in my sphere, everything goes to shit.

I know he really disagrees with the idea of our similarity these days, but even just the idea of a strong family resemblance in this aspect scares me. 

The chief didn’t get it right until he ruined everything with a second try. My first try is right, I’m not going to document it and turn it to steaming dragon shit. 

Fuse’s shed is locked when I get there and I curse, punching the lock and swearing again, clutching my hand to my chest. I made that lock for her, right after I helped her rebuild the shed. It took Smitelout and I two months to get enough Nightmare scale and Gronckle iron to shingle the roof so that it’s fireproof. She cried when the first shed went up in flames a year ago and took her house with it, ironically, as the result of talking to the third or fourth dragon trapping ego-maniac that I’d already suggested a permanent solution to. 

I flex my hand, checking my knuckles for swelling. The new shed is sturdy and I haven’t been punching things in anger as much as I used to. Maybe it means I’ve been mis-representing myself as calm and easy going. 

“How am I going to tell her this?” I sigh, pacing back and forth in front of the door and yanking on my hair in the vain hope it’ll help me think. “Just…hey Fuse, the chief is selling me like a yak to get straight access from people we don’t know. I’m not going to do it, obviously, because—I’ll find another way around it, I just can’t start a war right when things are calm—you know that. She’d know that. She knows everything.” 

I wish I could ask Fuse how to tell Fuse this. 

“I should start with I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t catch this, I’m sorry I let the chief talk to people, I’m sorry Bang’s senility detector is obviously awful, I…” I sigh and stare at the shed door, the wood polished to a high gloss and stained with Nightmare Gel lacquer. I never would have thought anything positive could come from Fuse having to share space with Smitelout in the forge after the fire, but together they came up with some pretty innovative things. I can hold a torch to that door and it barely gets hot on the other side. 

Years ago, I never bought Fuse’s explanation that she blew me up, but I understood when I looked down at Berk and saw her house engulfed in flames. Even if I didn’t spark the fire, it was still on me. 

Maybe I should just lead with I love you. 

“Right, like that’s going to happen.” I sigh, trying to work back around to the angry side of this emotional journey. I know there’s a way through this but I can’t even start to think about the problem before I make sure she knows how I feel about it, but I can’t even make sure she knows how I feel about her. 

That was the fire too. Not that I didn’t love her before then, but I hadn’t put words to it. It was, like most things about Fuse, not easily or accurately described. One time I made the mistake of telling Arvid I like how she always smells dangerous and I thought he was going to make me get my head checked out. But when she came out of the Ingerman house, sooty but unharmed, comforting a squawking chicken under her arm I could have died happy in the ash just knowing that she was ok. 

Even I’m not stupid enough to think this is the right time to say it though. Just, hey Fuse, I love you, also the chief is marrying me off, let’s run away! But only temporarily because I have to fix the mess. 

That’s an idea. Take a week, let the chief sweat. What’s he going to do, offer up Stoick? 

I wouldn’t put it past him, I guess, but at the same time, Stoick doesn’t need to marry a princess. The kid thinks highly enough of himself as is, but I could just be saying that because now that he has a dragon, he’s too busy to stand in a room with me for a few hours to make sure that the chief doesn’t make out with my mother while I’m trying to talk to one of them.

That’s not funny right now. I’m so angry I could actually leave for a while or something. Go find a trapper boat and get rid of some of it. Except right, I don’t know how to keep the peace. Not like I’m here to head off a fight with Fuse that’s really his fault. 

Except it’s not a fight, it never is with her. It’s an ugly truth that I don’t want to say. It’s…I messed up by not keeping a close enough eye on correspondence and now it’s going to hurt her. What if she heard from someone else? What if she heard from someone who led with feelings and rounded off facts? 

“Ok, figure this out, it’s Fuse. It’s Fuse.” I start pacing again, looking up hopefully when the front door opens. It’s lacquered too, I know Fishlegs is jealous that we didn’t do his house too, but I told him he was more than welcome to lose Ruffnut’s half of the yak in a fire and I’d be glad to rebuild it for him. 

It’s not Fuse, but it’s her dad, and he pauses halfway through a wave. 

“Rough day?” 

“Do you know where Fuse is?”

“Flew off late last night, I figured it was something you asked her to do, is everything ok?” He frowns, “sometimes I’m still not over how cool imminent danger sounds in my head at first and then I realize it’s my kid and not me and it’s instantly the cusp of terror hour in my pants.” 

“Ok.” I still don’t know how to talk to him, really, even after four years of weekly bonfires with the Ingermans, but blunt acceptance usually works. It’s something he has in common with his daughter. “Did she talk to anyone in particular or anything?” 

“I guess I saw her talking to my sister, or one of my sister’s vaguely sister shaped children. There are a lot of those. So many, in fact, that you might need to start thinking about a place to put all of us. Like an island. For Thorstons. Just—”

“Tell her I’m looking for her if you see her, alright?” I can’t deal with him right now and that’s bad and he’s the last person I should be snapping at, because he’s the first person Fuse is going to go to when I tell her I’ve been auctioned off like a rare and expensive dragon and it’d be best for him to be on my side at least a little bit. 

Well, Fuse might also go to Aurelia, but I’m banking on the chief negotiating trade without her which definitely puts her on my side. She probably could have gotten more for the trade. 

“Sounds important.” 

“It is,” I point at the shed, “I’m just going to wait for her here, if that’s alright.” 

“Whatever,” he waves me off and starts walking away, leaving me to my pacing. 

Maybe I should have told him about it. At least he usually has something original to say, even though I don’t largely consider his comments helpful. Fuse does though, I can’t remember how many times she’s been stuck on a problem and her dad says something nonsensical and the puzzle clicks in her brain. But I feel like even Tuffnut would have the same answer for this as everyone else does. 

It’s not a wrong answer.

I don’t have anything else to say about it, because it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. That’s not the most immediate issue and that little problem is taking up all my attention at this particular moment.

“I can just tell the truth,” I mutter, “it’s Fuse. Just…the chief is saying I’ll marry someone for an alliance. I assure you, I won’t, and I don’t think anyone would marry a hog-tied boy being held down by a couple of mercenaries, because Arvid won’t do it, I know that much—and I didn’t want you to think—not that I can change what you think, because fuck. Argh.” I stop and bang my head on the door a couple of times. “Think. There’s no way to make this sound good.”

As if on cue, like she could feel the desperately cornered Eret energy in the air from a distance, Hotgut lands behind me, recognizable by the way she snorts and her saddle bags clunk with clay jars as soon as her feet crunch in the grass. 

“Did you forget something in there?” Fuse swings off of her, slinging her saddle bag over her shoulder and stalking towards the shed with a purpose usually reserved for heading towards blowing something up and not away from. 

“No.” 

Maybe it’s the soot. Maybe it’s the soot plus the expression, her eyebrows a hard, sturdy line except for where they’re patchy and black flecked from a recent burn. She just blew something up, something big, and that always lights up a space around her like a Monstrous Nightmare flare. 

“You didn’t keep a key?” She hands me her saddle bags and I take them with a limp hand as she rummages in her pocket and pulls out the only key I made for the lock. 

“I’m not trying to get in.”

“Then what are you doing?” She’s talking because I’m prompting her, I recognize the distanced tone and my heart drops into my stomach. 

She knows. 

Who told her? 

“I can explain.” I start talking and the words fall out of my mouth without much direction, like I’m just trying to surround her in a pool of apologies because I don’t know where to directly apply one. “Well, I can’t, I don’t know what’s going on. The chief sold me like a prize yak, I guess, or he’s going to sell me, except for a trade route and not even gold. Not that I’m worth gold. Not that this is a gold kind of conversation—”

“I took care of it.” She shoves the door open and takes the saddlebags back from me, tossing them onto her workbench with force, like they aren’t dangerous. 

The edges of her pink braid are burned, black against the leather of her fireproof vest. I have no context for what she just said. I can’t place her response in reality. 

“What?” 

“I said I took care of it,” she grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me into a kiss, always stronger than she looks, and I don’t fully recognize her intent until she slams the door shut behind us and the lock clicks in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

I put the stone floor in Fuse’s shed myself, but it’s not the first time I find myself regretting it. She’s still breathing heavy, her chin digging into my chest, and I know that her happy return to logic is imminent, but in the meantime, my ass is falling asleep. 

Fuse snores, gripping my hip through what I think is her discarded pants and nuzzling into the side of my neck. 

“Hey,” I kiss her head and try and shift, trying to center her weight on me a little better so that at least both sides of my ass will be the same amount of numb. 

“Hmm?” She raises her head, eyes squinted but focused. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep last night,” she yawns, covering her mouth with her hand and digging her elbow into my chest on the way to sit up. There’s enough light slipping through the cracks around the door for me to see just how naked and soft-skinned and beautiful she is and I pull her shirt over my lap as I sit up, wincing as the pressure shifts against my store ass. 

“You didn’t?” I frown, trying to keep my eyes above her shoulders and remember what got us onto the floor in the first place. 

“I had something to handle.” She nods, eyes steely as she glances at the empty saddle bags on the workbench. 

Oh. Right. 

Now I’m kind of worried. 

“About that…” I clear my throat and adjust the shirt to cover more of my lap, knees shifting so that I’m sitting cross-legged, back to the wall next to her, our shoulders touching. She puts her hand on my thigh, thumb tracing the scar from when I sliced it open getting a dragon out of a broken cage. There’s a new bandage on her wrist and it drags over my side when she inches her hand higher, fingertips walking towards my hip. I shudder and shift away an inch, trying to build up the motivation to ruin the moment. 

That was…aggressive even for Fuse after an explosion. 

I don’t mind when she comes back from a mission all…handsy. And mouthy. And generally all over me until the manic excitement in her eyes subsides and she goes back to careful motions and even expressions. 

I actually really like it, if I’m honest. And it’s kind of hard to lie when I’m trying to cover the third piece of hard evidence today that I really like it. 

Fuse looks down at the wad of fabric in my lap and smirks. Any blood that has made it back into my head promptly flees south and I pluck her hand off of my leg, holding it in both of mine. I kiss the clean bandage on her wrist. 

She reaches for my dick with her other hand. 

“Oh my gods, Fuse,” I jump, grabbing that hand too and holding them both. “What did you do? Where did you go? You can’t stall forever.” 

“I’m not stalling,” she nods at me, squeezing my hands. “I’m just…reminding you who you belong t—with.” 

“You were going to say to. As in you were reminding me who I belong to.” I let go of her hands and start gathering my hair back up into a tie. “So, I’m not just a prize yak to be traded around, that’s not the problem here. The problem is that I’m your prize yak. Gotcha.” 

She shrugs. As always, she’s not shy about the fact that she’s still naked and I’m struggling to find reason not to do some claiming of my own. I can peacefully plant the Berk flag, no matter what the chief says. 

Ugh, the chief. Ugh, the situation. Ugh, Fuse fiddling with her hair and her breast and stalling. 

“What did you do?” I fumble through the pile of clothes for my shirt and hand it to her. She takes it reluctantly but doesn’t put it on until I give her a hard look. “Fuse…” 

“I said I took care of it,” she stands up, plucking a flint off of one of the shelves and lighting a candle. The orange light catches the pink in her burn flecked eyebrows as she perches on her stool, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and leaving a soot smudge behind. 

“That’s so ominous and uninformative.” 

“You can’t be traded to a princess if there’s no princess.” 

“What do you mean if there is no princess?” 

She shrugs. What worries me the most is how pleased with herself she looks. That and the fact that she doesn’t usually need this much prompting to tell me something. She usually takes it at face value that I’m asking for a reason. 

“Fuse.” 

“I blew up her house.” She stands up and starts sorting through the clothes, getting dressed with a tired resignation. 

“You blew up her house?” My mouth flaps, “how—how did you know which house was her house?” 

“She’s the princess,” the title comes out with a bitter, unrefined edge, “I figured her house would be one of the biggest on the island, so I did the biggest five, just to be sure.” 

“You blew up five houses.” 

She nods and takes my shirt off, tossing it at me with that self-satisfied smirk and holding her hand out at me. I stare at it. 

“Give me my shirt.” 

And she’s topless and she blew up five houses because I’m her prize livestock and I’ll have time to unpack why that’s working so well for me later, after I talk to the chief and make sure that Fuse didn’t start a war. And that he never does anything like this ever again. And after we have a long talk with Fuse about asking before making decisions. 

But right now I really can’t give her the shirt or none of those things will happen. 

“I’m still using it.” 

Then she looks really proud of herself and I huff, tossing it at her head and pulling my own on before standing up and stepping into my pants. Fuse pauses halfway through tightening her breast bindings and bites her lip, looking at me out of the corner of her eye with a sigh and a rare self-conscious frown. 

“Are you mad?” Her hair tangles in the collar of her shirt and she looks at my feet as she fixes and fiddles with it.

“Am I mad?” 

“Are you mad at me for dealing with it without talking to you first?” She sits down fully dressed on her stool and waits for an answer.

“I…” I sigh and scratch my chin, suddenly exhausted, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“What?” 

“I hadn’t considered whether I was mad or not.” I lean back on the workbench, looking at the door with vague disappointment that we have to walk through it. “Between the thinking we were going to have to run away and start a new tribe and the, you know, you blowing up five houses and coping with your emotions about it…I’m mad at the chief.” 

“But you aren’t mad at me?” She looks hopeful, a little confused, like she’s only now realizing that as I’m not a yak, I might have an opinion about all the work I’m going to have to do to clean this up. 

I really don’t want to go to war again. 

Not that there’s anyone left to wage war on us, Fuse…took care of that pretty well. 

“We’ve got to talk to the chief,” I pull my boots on, “how far away is the island?” 

“Six hours on Hotgut, probably a day and a half on a boat.” She opens the door and winces at the light and I blow out the candle before following her outside. Hotgut rushes up to us, snuffling at my ankles and I pat her on the head. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“What question?” I try and divert her and it works as well as could be expected. She stares through me and the corner of her mouth twitches in a lame attempt at a fake smile. 

“When I asked if you’re mad at me.” Her shrug is defeated and I sigh, clenching my teeth past the urge to cut her off and tell her that I’m not mad just so that she stops looking so sad. I hate making her sad. “You didn’t answer it.” 

“Yeah,” I try and fail not to wince and she nods. “I guess I didn’t.” 

“Let’s go talk to the chief,” she points in the vague direction of the chief’s house and I nod. 

“Yeah, guess we have to.” 

The chief is still sitting at the table, rewriting what I’m assuming is his idiotic contract, but I don’t expect to see Ruffnut there with him, feet kicked up on a chair. Fuse pauses when she sees her and I run into her back because I’m not paying attention. She stumbles and I catch her shoulder, steadying her even as the chief raises a flippant eyebrow like he thinks he’s about to get what he wants. 

“Just the people I thought I’d be talking to,” he puts down his writing stick. “Do you have something to tell me?” 

I gesture at Fuse, who is glaring at the chief like she pictured him in each of those five houses. He doesn’t flinch and it hits me that he really doesn’t know who he prodded. 

“You want to tell him?” I ask her and she frowns, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye before crossing her arms and exhaling, like as much as she keeps insisting she solved the problem, she doesn’t mind tearing into the chief at least a little bit. 

“My aunt told me about the treaty last night, so I flew down there and handled the problem.” She looks at me for prompting and Ruffnut’s face freezes like she’s putting together what the chief isn’t yet. He still looks expectant, like a dragon who knows that performing a trick is going to eventually get a fish tossed in its direction. 

“How’d you handle it?” I ask, “don’t worry chief, I needed a little clarification too.” 

“I blew up the princess’s house.” 

The chief’s smile freezes on his face like he was just ambushed by a flightmare. I’d say Fuse is more like a Night Fury blast in Viking form, but it’s an ambush either way. 

“Fuse…” Ruffnut sits up straight, her hand over her mouth. 

“You did what?” The chief manages to get out, looking between me and Fuse like he’s waiting for a joke that he knows isn’t coming. I shrug and hold my arms out, the universal gesture for I don’t know what you expected. 

“I blew up the princess’s house around sunrise this morning,” Fuse’s voice gains power when she says it a second time, like she’s enjoying the residual shockwaves battering the chief. “I left right after you told me what was going on, it was about a six hour flight. I dropped the bombs and came right back.” 

“How did you know which house was the princess’s house?” Ruffnut whispers, and I recognize the giddy look in her eyes at the prospective answer. 

The chief is staring at Fuse like he’s never seen her before and it hits me that he hasn’t. He thought he was nudging me, and I don’t like that he thought he could, but really, he should have realized he was shoving Fuse. Fuse who vaporizes rock and laughs about it. Fuse who has taken out ships with a bomb the size of my fist. 

Fuse who is so abjectly terrifying as an adversary that her workshop was the target of the first mainland attack on Berk in the decades I’ve been alive. 

“I asked that too,” I nod at Ruffnut, “it’s a good question. It has a good answer, too.” 

“I’m hoping you’re about to say that the answer is this is all an elaborate prank,” the chief tries to laugh it off and Fuse narrows her eyes at him, nostrils flaring cutely as the dragon within her draws a deep breath to feed its fire. 

“I bombed the five biggest houses, I wanted to be sure I got her.” 

“Fuse…” Ruffnut stands up, extending her hand to request a high five and Fuse starts to give one to her. I catch her elbow and pat it gently. 

“Maybe not…right now. With the celebrating.” 

Fuse blushes and looks at her feet, arms crossed like she’s trying to remember to act like I’m mad at her. I still don’t know if mad is the right word. I think I’m still kind of shaken, and an alarming part of me thinks that if this were just the chief’s problem, I’d be more flattered than anything because of the lengths she’d go to for me. I just wish she’d told me before flying off alone. 

What if they weren’t friendly? What if they were faking diplomacy to get me in their territory to attack? What if she’d been alone and something bad had happened? 

Fuse has all the answers, but she forgets to ask the questions. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. I don’t really think she means it. 

The chief is frozen, staring between me and Fuse and the paper in front of him, my name etched neatly next to alliance and marriage like a relic from an age where that was possible. 

“Were there people in the houses?” The chief asks me, not Fuse, like he’s not sure how to look at her but he’s trusting that I still seem steady. 

“I’m assuming so,” Fuse’s voice is flat and deadly like it gets when she’s holding something truly volatile and waiting for the right moment. “Not anymore, though.”

“Fuse,” I put my hand on her arm and it’s rigid and cool to the touch. She doesn’t back down from glaring at the chief until I tug on her slightly and then she won’t look at me, breath shaky when she stares back at her feet. 

It’s like she’s going to cry. Oh Thor, I’m going to make her cry. 

“That’s an act of war, Eret,” the chief’s voice is a hollow attempt at admonishing me and I throw my arms in the air again. 

“You tried to marry me off.” 

“I tried to get you to make some Odin-damned sense and…and…” He gestures at Fuse with an angry, vacant expression, like he doesn’t recognize her. It’s the opposite of the way he looked at Aurelia when he realized she could convince me of things that he couldn’t. He’s recognizing that Fuse is a person instead of a concept, but in this case, much like my own, he likes the concept better. 

“Does your dad know what you pulled off?” Ruffnut asks and the chief glares at her. “I mean did. Not pulled off. Did. Bad Fuse–”

“I haven’t seen him,” she shakes her head. Her eyes are wet and I can’t look at her, not right now. Not when the chief is saying war and looking at me like he expects me to fix it somehow. 

“We’ve been at peace all of two months and now…” The chief sputters, gesturing at Fuse again and just as I’m about to tell him that’s a remarkable impression of my mother, the door opens behind me and she walks in holding a basket of vegetables. 

She raises her eyebrow at me and looks between Ruffnut and the chief and my stomach sinks with a rush of anxious realization. 

She doesn’t know the chief was making this deal, does she? 

“What’s going on here?” She looks at me for the answer and I can’t tell if she’s assuming it must be my fault or she picked me at random to start explaining first. 

I shrug, “I don’t know, Mom, it’s kind of a long story.” 

“Not that long,” Ruffnut snorts, “Fuse works quick.” 

“What’s she talking about?” Mom directs that at the chief, ignoring Fuse like she usually does, but it stings more than normal considering the circumstances. 

The chief glances at Fuse and stands up straight like he has any place for conviction in this situation, “Astrid–”

“I’ve got this one, chief,” I cut him off, “some tribe down south offered a princess’s hand in marriage in exchange for protection, and well, you know how he likes to point out to people that I’m not married…” 

Mom sets the basket down and looks at the chief with the face she uses to make people tell the truth out of sheer and overwhelming fear of what the alternative means for the location of their guts. 

“Don’t worry about it, Astrid, we’re just at war now, again. It’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, “so I’m not too stressed about Eret’s refusal to grow up–”

“War?” Mom looks at me with that question, because of course she does. “Someone had better start making sense–”

“It was me,” Fuse steps forward again, glaring flatly at the chief before facing my mom, chin thrust forward, “I heard last night that Eret was engaged to some princess in some treaty and I–I handled it.” 

“Handled it?” Mom looks at me to answer but Fuse takes another step towards her, arms crossed tight with a white knuckle grip above her elbows. 

“I went down there–”

“And started a war,” the chief cuts across her, voice shaking slightly. “Blew up five buildings with people in them–”

Fuse glowers at him and I step between them, hand held in the chief’s direction. He looks pissed and stunned and I clear my throat to try and be the reasonable party, even though I’m just the recently traded prize yak in the room. 

“We don’t know if we’re at war,” I sigh, “to be clear, there might not be anyone left to wage war on us.” 

Fuse won’t meet my eyes. It makes my heart thud painfully against my ribcage and I focus on breathing slowly, like this is an argument I have every day. 

“Is this a joke to you?” The chief looks at Mom for support and I snap. 

“No, but marrying me off seems like a joke to you so excuse me for my skewed perspective on the situation.” 

“This seems like one of those Haddock things,” Ruffnut looks at Fuse, “maybe we should go tell your dad and cele–” 

“Go ahead,” Fuse waves her aunt off, “I need to be here for this.” 

“I can handle it,” I try and give her an out and she shakes her head at me, looking at my chin instead of my eyes. 

“Braver than me,” Ruffnut mumbles as she leaves through the front door and Mom stares silently at me for a second before snatching the piece of parchment in front of the chief and reading. Her eyebrows raise and then knit together in a hard frown and I wait to step in front of Fuse when Mom blames her for this, like she does for everything. 

I swear, I get food poisoning while I’m alone from eating something I caught and cooked myself, and somehow, Mom can always pin it on Fuse. 

“Is this true?” Mom’s voice is low and deadly and aimed squarely at the chief. 

“What part of it?” He stammers, reaching for the parchment. Mom doesn’t let him have it, holding it to the table with a firmly pointed fingertip. 

“The part where you’re offering the betrothal of my son as part of a treaty without talking to me first.” 

“I–”

“It’s your handwriting,” she grits through her teeth, “are you saying something outside of your control possessed your hand to write this down? Were you being tortured?” 

“I haven’t sent it,” the chief shakes his head, waving his hands frantically like he can erase the situation, “it’s not–I was just trying to put some pressure on the situation, I didn’t realize that would lead to–”

“I don’t like the situation any more than you do.” Mom picks up the parchment and rips it in half twice, crumpling the pieces into a ball and tossing it onto the fire. “But it’s not something you get to decide without talking to me. Especially not like this–” 

I think I like being called a yak more than a situation, like I’m something that just happened to them and now they have to deal with. I thought we were past that. Just when I assume I’m the solution, they go shoving me back into the role of problem. 

“I decided,” Fuse clears her throat, “it’s not happening.” 

Mom looks at her, curious and perplexed, a kind of slow sweeping sizing her up. Fuse doesn’t shrink from it, staring at the chief as he rubs his head like he’s contemplating someone else’s mess even though he was the one who tripped them. 

No, he doesn’t get to swoop in and play chief right now. Fuse should have talked to me first, but what did he expect? He pushed the wrong girl but I’m the one who knows how to pull the chaos that follows her back. 

“I’ll talk to Aurelia,” I trust the stand still to stay for long enough to formulate a plan, “I bet we could borrow one of the faster scout boats and be down there by tomorrow morning. It seems like a dumb idea to follow up with an army and I can’t say how much they’ll trust dragons right now. Bang can ride below deck until we see what we’re looking at and if we have to get out fast, we can.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Fuse volunteers immediately, but the eye contact she manages is cautious, like she already knows my answer. 

“I think…if there’s any chance at getting ahead of this, it’s probably better that you don’t…”

“Return to the scene of the random attack?” The chief sighs, “Thor’s beard Fuse, I thought you were smarter than this–”

“I don’t know, Hiccup, I thought you were smarter than this.” Mom stands up and starts angrily putting away the food, slamming things onto shelves and looking between Fuse and I with that same measuring expression. “Seems like she knows how to deal with news of an engagement.” 

Fuse snorts and I let her have it, because after four years of tolerating her, my mom is looking at Fuse with something like interest. All I have to do is go prevent a war. It’s…a step in a direction.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can steer for a shift, your dad taught me how,” Aurelia sits down on the bench next to me, pulling her furs closer around her shoulders. It’s not cold, but she’s always cold, and maybe I should have at least asked Arvid if Wingspark could come keep her warm, but dealing with one dragon is enough on a mission like this. And this is definitely a situation I’m not getting into without Bang. 

“It’s fine,” I check the compass on the front of the boat against the constellations ahead and pull the rope attached to the sail just slightly to adjust our course. I’m not as good as Dad, but after a few six week shifts scouting, I got good enough to trust myself not to get horribly lost. Especially after Fuse and Smitelout figured out how to charge the magnet further. 

Ugh, Fuse. 

Just thinking of her hurts. She hugged me goodbye too tightly and pressed a rarely shared bag of smoke bombs into my hand. It wasn’t an apology and I don’t think I want one. I don’t know what I want. I don’t think it matters what I want. 

“You’re quiet,” she elbows me in the side, “which is especially out of character given the fact that Fuse blew people up for you after my idiot dad tried to marry you off for an alliance.” 

“That’s a really nice way of saying he miscounted his livestock,” I snort. 

“He miscounted the entire situation,” she shakes her head, fiddling with the end of her braid and staring out at the water. A whale fin cuts through the moonlight ahead of us, meaning that we’re far enough south that sea dragons are getting scarce. I don’t like how foreign the smooth skin and straight geysers of water look to me, but I like that we’re probably not going to run into any trappers. 

I thought about bringing Ingrid too, just in case, but if anyone does retaliate before we can get to the bombed out island, I want good forces at home. Aurelia packed her bow, I saw, but mostly she packed books and parchment and a bag of gronckle iron scrap to trade. 

“You can say that again,” I look back at her lumpy bags, “do you really think there’s a shot to talk through this?” 

“I think if they’re small enough and scared enough, we should be able to get away with a promise that Fuse never enters their territory ever again.” 

“Fuse is going to hate that. You know what happens when you tell her she can’t do something.” 

“We do, and it usually involves blowing up the thing someone said she couldn’t,” Aurelia sighs and pushes overgrown bangs out of her face when I turn slightly into the wind. We’re skirting the coast of some craggy islands and Bang disinterestedly watches the water, waiting for a fish to jump. “My dad doesn’t understand that you’re the only one who gets to tell her she can’t marry you.” 

“I’ve never said that,” I scoot away from her to show my feelings about her bringing that up by letting a bit more of the night breeze hit her face, “and she doesn’t have a problem with not marrying me. She just has a problem with me marrying anyone else. She’s more…territorial than she is demanding.” 

“We all know how territorial Fuse is,” she smirks at me, “nice hickey, by the way, real subtle.” 

“Fuse isn’t subtle,” I rub the side of my neck like I can smudge the bruise away like the soot she leaves me with. “Maybe that’s sinking in with the chief. Even though he likes her, he always kind of treats her like a party trick or something.” 

“I get that,” Aurelia is exasperated and eager, “he asked to come along, like he still thinks whenever I can handle things it’s a fluke. I thought we were getting past that.” 

“I’m really starting to think he made up this stupid betrothal to get me to agree to marry Fuse. I thought we were past him manipulating the situation with marriage.” 

“You’re just starting to think that?” She raises a teasing eyebrow at me. 

“I didn’t have much time to think about it between figuring out I was going to be engaged to Fuse handling the concept of me being engaged to–”

“I don’t get why you don’t just marry her. I mean, I know why, you just told me you’re still hung up on my dad manipulating the situation with marriage but…that’s him. Not you.” 

“He hasn’t made me chief yet,” I rub my wind-dry eyes to get some feeling back into them and focus on the compass. “Must mean I’m not enough like him yet.” 

“I don’t think that’s why,” she shrugs, “I think he’s just not ready to move on when he doesn’t have anything else to move to. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when he nags me about having kids.” 

“Another reason to not get married yet,” I laugh. 

“You do know that kids don’t spontaneously appear after marriage, right? Like, you especially should get that.” 

“I know where babies come from. This is really how you want to spend this time? Not teaching me to be diplomatic or anything but giving me an awkward Terrors and Fireworms talk that I don’t want?” 

“You know how to be diplomatic,” she rolls her eyes, “you don’t like doing it, but you know how.” 

“Thank you,” I nod, scooting back closer to her and rewarding her for the compliment with a windbreak, “I give people a chance to talk, they just don’t talk to me. And it’s not that I don’t like it, I just…I don’t know.” I frown at the horizon, the sun starting to flirt with the edge of the sea, a pale blue edge of light against far off clouds. “I keep thinking about Fuse making that decision alone.” 

“Was it really a decision?” Aurelia scoffs. 

“That’s what worries me, she thinks and acts at the same time.” I shake my head, “it’s–this is a tiny tribe, I killed off half of them last year at that dragon trading post, you were there. It’s absurd for some tiny tribe with no reputation to offer up a marriage alliance to Berk, of all places.” 

“You think it could be a trap?” She frowns, the cogs behind her eyes turning as she weighs that option. 

“I think it makes more sense than a lot of other things. I think I don’t even care if it makes sense, really, it’s a possibility Fuse didn’t even think about before flying off to defend me before telling anyone where she was going. What if it had been a trap?” That fear overwhelms the slow fading bitterness that she knew about this whole disaster before I did and didn’t think to tell me. I know she’s not always going to think and I know she’s going to act when she feels it’s right. 

But as much as I trust her to control herself, as much as possible, I don’t want to leave her controlling a tense situation. 

“I don’t think she was defending you,” Aurelia pats my shoulder, “if it was about you, she would have gone after the chief because he was the one who put you in the situation. I think it’s more in line with that territorial streak.” 

“She can trust me–”

“It’s not about trust,” she cuts me off, “it’s–Arvid trusts Ingrid to keep me safe, I know that. She knows that. Hel, I think even he knows that, but…ever since that first time I got kidnapped, he can’t handle it when there’s even a chance of me being in danger out of his sight.”

“I’m aware, I get to assure him constantly that you’re fine while he bites his nails and compulsively sharpens his sword. He’s gone through two. In three years.” 

“Fuse got to think you were dead for a whole day–”

“Four years ago–”

“All I’m saying is they aren’t rational when it comes to us. And we aren’t rational when it comes to them, but…well, I like to think we’ve dealt with my dad more and look past the first solution before acting, because his first solution is always what he wants and not what might be best.” She gets up to pull out the map that Fuse marked for us. 

“I hate it when you make sense.” 

“Well, the alternatives to the truth at this point are we’re too damaged by our upbringing to trust fully or they love us more than we love them so…I’ll settle.” 

I snort, “speak for yourself, I don’t–I still haven’t told Fuse I love her.” 

“Idiot, how long have you been freaking out about that?” She sighs, “not that you need to. It’s Fuse.” 

“Well, she hasn’t told me either.” 

“It’s Fuse,” Aurelia puts the map away, “why would she need to tell you something she finds obvious?” 

“Right, like the obvious response to make a statistically ensured attempt at blowing up the princess the chief said I’d marry. I always forget that about her.” I adjust our course again slightly, watching Aurelia’s fingertip trace along a coastline as she stares at the horizon, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. “How far out are we?” 

“Close enough we probably want to get Bang below deck, just in case the mere suggestion of a dragon is enough to set them off.” 

“Gotta love that possibility,” I hand her the rope guiding the sail, “you sure you got this?” 

“I haven’t crashed your dad’s boat yet.”

The rest of the trip is silent, for us, but not necessarily somber. I think we both know the two ways this can go and we’re prepared for both, hoping for the first. Maybe Fuse just got everyone, honestly, except I can’t say I love that either. We need allies, fewer dragons come back to Berk every year and the thermal vent has shown no sign of reclosing. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was before we opened it up, but I’ve seen the chart Rolf keeps on the library wall, all lines slowly angling down. 

Not only do we need allies, but I’m not ever quite as on board with the killing as everyone else, no matter what the chief thinks. Not that everyone else is always trying to kill or anything, that’s really only Ingrid and I don’t know how I could blame her, especially since she holds back when I ask. It just seems like only Aurelia and I are planning a move after the current one, and frankly, Aurelia gets a thrill out of as many pieces being left to talk in the end while I’d rather have the easiest downhill finish. 

I hate killing and the reasons I’ve had to, but more than that, I really hate asking people to do things I wouldn’t do myself. I hate people taking risks they shouldn’t have to when the my whole point is trying to keep them safe. 

“You ready,” Aurelia mutters when we get close enough to see people moving rubble on a still vaguely smoking shore. The craters are obvious, rock blackened and heaped among splintered wood. Someone spots our boat and points, a few people unholstering weapons and yelling. 

I do the same, spinning my axe in my hand and letting the comforting weight settle forward, so I can block if I have to. Aurelia steps up to the bow, leaving me to maneuver the boat up against the crude, half built dock. She waves, hopping down delicately, like she’s illustrating how small and harmless she is. It works and the two men closest to her lower their weapons, looking at each other confused. 

“Hi,” she holds her hand out and one of them shakes it dumbly, grip limp when she grins widely at him. “I’m Aurelia Hofferson–”

“Hofferson,” the man not shaking her hand pulls a face and looks at me with confusion that flickers almost instantly to recognition as he lifts his hammer again. “Berk. You’re the chief of Berk–”

“Not officially,” I jump down, landing as loudly as I can and rocking forward onto the balls of my feet as I give the axe a casual twirl. The hammer he has isn’t a war hammer, it’s like they’re building, not fighting, and I try and keep my voice casual. “Close enough though, we were hoping to talk to whoever is in charge.” 

“Is this about the attack?” The one waving a hammer at me asks, fear in his eyes as he gestures at a smoking crater behind him. “I knew that was a dragon rider–”

“What it is is a really long story,” Aurelia grins, twirling her braid around her finger and pulling the bag of gronckle iron out of her pocket. “We’d be willing to trade some metal for the chance to tell it, if you could point us in the right direction.” 

“Our old chief is dead!” Mr. Hyperactive Hammer waves it at me and I raise an eyebrow, trying for Ingrid’s ‘put that thing down before you hurt yourself’ expression. He’s about Rolf’s age but beardless and suspiciously unscarred. I push up my sleeves to show the fireworm wrapped around my bicep and his eyes widen further. 

“Princess Elva’s in charge, until we figure something else out,” the other man remains charmed by Aurelia, pointing dumbly over his shoulder. “She’s up there, I can walk you.” 

Princess. 

I wonder how recently acquired that title is and share a look with Aurelia, who’s thinking the same thing. 

“I bet we can figure it out,” I take a step forward and Mr. Hammer blocks me, holding his namesake up like a sword. “Excuse me.” 

“We can’t let them bring their weapons,” he tells the other guy, who shrugs, and I check the flint and smokebombs in my pocket before turning around and throwing my axe to stick neatly about ten feet up the mast of the ship. It wobbles slightly but holds and Mr. Hammer gulps and nods at me. “Is that all you have?” 

I want to tell him that I didn’t bother bringing anything else, but Aurelia gives me a hard look and I sigh, holding up empty palms. 

“We’re here to talk, like she said.” 

“I knew it was a dragon rider,” Mr. Hammer huffs, glaring between us and stalking along a new and still grassy trail up a hill, “just wait until Elva hears about this. You’ll wish you’d kept that axe on you.” 

“What’s your name?” Aurelia asks, voice bright and easy like she’s trying to train a dragon. It’s always funny to me, considering when she actually tries to train a dragon, she squawks like she’s trying to piss it off. Something got switched in her head and she’s sure people are the reasonable faction. 

“You can call me John,” the guy who’s been stumbling alongside her since she landed says and she nods politely at him even as her eyes flash with irritation. She already cracked him and now she’s lost interest, so I fall into step beside the guy, offering him my hand. 

“Eret.” 

He shakes it disappointed. 

“What about you? You don’t have a name?” Aurelia asks Mr. Hammer. 

“Don’t think that’s going to work on me,” he waves at her, “I know about you Berkians.” 

“What about us?” She cocks her head, “because I know you used to be dragon trappers until business dried up–”

“You destroyed our trading post.” Mr. Hammer cuts her off. I really wish he’d tell her his thor-damned name already so that I could stop referring to him as Mr. Hammer, because it’s not even an earned moniker with that limp wristed grip. 

“Business dried up,” Aurelia forces her tone and I tense in case I need to back it up for her, “that’s good news for you now, you have plenty of time to do other business and Berk has plenty of other business.” She holds her hand out and stares at him pointedly, “you don’t look like a dragon trapper, I bet you’d like a few more jobs available.” 

“How do you know what a dragon trapper looks like? I thought you only saw us dead.” It’s an obvious fib and he pauses, flinching at me like he expects me to attack him. I shrug, feigning confusion. 

“My father in law is an ex-dragon trapper now living fully peacefully on Berk,” Aurelia offers the personal information like bait and John huffs disappointedly next to me. 

“Father-in-law? Just my luck.”

“Trust me, my being married isn’t in the top ten reasons you’d have no luck,” she snaps, pushing her handshake on Mr. Hammer more aggressively. I can see her getting frustrated with him and try to lighten the mood, but it’s unnecessary because the quip softens Mr. Hammer’s expression slightly, like maybe Aurelia isn’t he only person John has been pissing off today. 

“Lennert,” he shakes her hand and goes back to stomping up the hill, “Elva isn’t going to be that easy, I hope you know. Her dad was voted chief after–”

“Business dried up,” I use Aurelia’s term, “considering what happened to the last guy.” 

I don’t sound as flippant as I want to. I remember it, the way Wingspark screamed when a hook dug into her wing, the way the chief exhaled around the blade of my axe, blood bubbling and mixing with the salt water sloshing across the deck of his sinking dock. 

“I knew it was a dragon rider,” Lennert repeats, pointing past two smoking craters of cracked black rock and at a small but untouched house. “Don’t try anything, she’s not alone in there.” 

“I said we’re here to talk,” Aurelia doesn’t seem convinced that she has him on her side and she tosses him the bag of scrap metal. He drops it and flinches and I recognize the twitch of a man who’s seen what Fuse can do once and only once. “Gronckle Iron, if you have a forge, maybe someone could make you some nails to go with that hammer. Thanks for the escort.” 

“I’m not hauling the bodies down once Elva is done with you,” he huffs and John gives one last longing look at Aurelia before following him. 

“Pleasant guy, we should have brought Rolf.” I walk with her towards the indicated house. There are maybe fifty people working around us, generally tired and either young or old. They notice us with a kind of accepting disinterest and if anyone else recognizes me, they don’t say anything. 

“Please, a night with you and Rolf on a boat together and I’d be worrying about a civil war.” She knocks on the door and we wait for someone to open it amid the shuffle and clang of moving armor within. 

“That’s suggesting people would agree with Rolf against me, which–”

“Or I disagree with both of you,” she gets in the last dig as the door opens, revealing a grizzled guard’s spear pointed straight at my chest and a girl around our age with a bandaged arm and shoulder behind him on a cushioned chair. I look at the spear and back at Aurelia and she shrugs, holding her hand out to the guard. 

“Aurelia Hofferson, nice to meet you.” 

“You’re from Berk?” The guard growls, jabbing me with the point hard enough to tear my shirt and draw a drop of blood from my ribs, but before I can snatch it out of his hand, the girl behind him stands up. 

“Gunther, knock it off.” 

The guard growls again, deeply talkative, regripping the spear like he intends to stab and I curl my lip. 

“Sounds like an order, Gunther.” 

“Thor-damnit, Eret, you made it this far without trying to start a fight,” Aurelia snaps at me, stepping around the guard and addressing the girl directly. “You must be Princess Elva, we’re here from Berk to talk to you about what happened.” 

“It was a dragon rider?” She shakes her head, “Len was right, what are the chances of that? Gunther, you can step outside.“

“Yeah, Gunther,” I grab the spear, shoving it back hard enough that he trips and the spearhead dulls further against his chain mail. “You can step outside.” 

He growls at me again and I wave at him as he leaves and shuts the door behind him. The girl sits back down, looking between me and Aurelia with a paling and suddenly desperate expression. 

“Who do I have to thank?” 

For what I’d guess is the first time in Aurelia’s life, a completely baffled “huh?” falls out of her mouth and expands to fill the silence. So much for her diplomatic expertise.


	4. Chapter 4

“Who figured out the code?” Princess Elva asks, looking between me and Aurelia and cradling her bandaged arm. The edges of her shirt where the sleeve was cut away are partially burned and I recognize the telltale pink hue sticking out of the end of the bandage. I wish I had some ointment to share with her because seeing a burn that big makes the fireworms around my chest pang sympathetically. 

“What code?” I look at Aurelia and she has that steely eyed expression she gets when she realizes the way through a conversation is direct and risky. 

“The code in the letter I sent.” Elva looks at me and stutters slightly, wringing her hands together, “you know, the one about the betrothal.” 

“You sent that?” 

I’m going to have to tell Fuse that she missed her target, aren’t I? And now her target isn’t just another royal kid in a tough situation, apparently she’s the one who sent the letter. For everyone’s sake, if we manage to turn this awkwardness into an agreement, stipulation number one is keeping Fuse out of local airspace. 

“I broke the code,” Aurelia lies, because she didn’t get a chance to even see the letter, I know that. I told her what was going on as I threw a bag of dinner onto the boat and threatened to load her up too if she didn’t move faster. 

“I wish you would have written back first,” Elva cradles her head in her hand and grimaces. She has dark hair and pale features, sharp dark eyes darting over us like she doesn’t trust us at all but doesn’t have another choice. “But all things considered, I’m not sure there would have been time.” 

“That’s what I got from the code. A real sense of urgency.” 

That’s a thing that Aurelia and the chief have that I don’t. Sometimes, they just lie. They put feeling into it too, if I don’t know they’re lying, sometimes even I believe it. I can’t lie without feeling Mom’s eyes digging into the back of my neck, even if she’s a six hour flight away. 

“Well, you got ten of them. I think there are at least ten more still alive,” the princess looks at me, “and my father, he was with them, trying to keep up with their old world order.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” Aurelia’s sincerity is honest and it props up her lie. “That wasn’t what we intended.” 

“Wait,” I frown at her, “are you saying we planned to bomb them on purpose?” 

“I broke the code, Eret,” she’s snaps, warning me to shut up with her eyes, but I’m irrationally irritated that she’d try to take credit for something that Fuse did. And it sound like she killed some people that the de-facto leader of this tribe wanted dead, so that’s even more impressive, all things considered. 

“We didn’t know about the bombs,” I blurt, “well, Berk did–well, I guess not because we’re here speaking for Berk and I’m future chief so I am Berk–not that I speak for everyone on Berk because I didn’t know about the bombs–”

“What Eret is trying to say is that we didn’t know all of the targets, specifically, only the urgency–”

“No, what I’m trying to say is that Berk didn’t do it, it was F–I mean my…” I stumble over what to call her, because I’m sitting in front of someone that sent a letter trying to betroth themselves to me, “my Fuse.” 

She gets to call me her prize yak, she can’t get mad about this. 

“Your Fuse?” Elva frowns, “you made the bombs?” 

“No, Fuse did, I–”

“His girlfriend,” Aurelia sighs, “she wasn’t too happy about the chief getting a letter offering up a betrothal.” 

“You aren’t chief?” Elva looks like this is all a little too much to take in at once. 

“Almost,” I insist, “he just has to say the word, any day now.” 

“Girlfriend,” she tries out the word like it’s not something she’s familiar with. Her norse sounds like it’s her native tongue but she pronounces some things differently, an accent I don’t know that might be far enough away from mine to call it a dialect. Or maybe she just doesn’t speak Haddock, that’s a problem more often than Aurelia likes to admit. “You’re betrothed?” 

“No–”

“Honey, you just dodged a very pretty but very dim projectile with this one here, let’s keep figuring out your problem.” 

“I wouldn’t say she dodged it, she just said her dad died,” I whisper behind my cupped hand, “and dim? She’s burned–” 

Aurelia cuts me off with a sharp, insulting look and I nod, blinking slowly at her. 

“You mean me, don’t you?” I scoff, “when you said pretty, I thought you meant Fuse. I’m not pretty–”

“That literally couldn’t matter less right now.” Aurelia and Elva share one of those dangerous looks that means I’m somehow a man outside of their smarter than me little woman club and I stuff my hands in my pockets, playing with the flint Fuse gave me. 

“I have a beard, I’m not pretty.” 

“I think it’s the flowing hair,” Elva suggests quietly and I slump down under the uncomfortable weight of her examination. 

“And the big blue eyes with the inch long eyelashes,” Aurelia rolls her eyes and they share a diplomatic laugh at my expense before Aurelia turns back serious, “anyway, all of that start to this situation is…unfortunate, but it sounds like you wanted our help, and we’re willing to give it to you to prevent escalation. What’s going on?” 

Elva trusts Aurelia, I can see it in the way she bites her lip and looks at me warily for a second, like she’s wondering if she can say this in my presence, but she decides I don’t look too suspect, I assume, because she starts talking. I thought I wiped out all the trappers in this tribe a few months ago, but apparently we weren’t as thorough as we needed to be. Aurelia asks a bunch of pertinent questions and learns that the trappers leftover were trying to take back control from Elva’s father, who let them move into the new houses first so that they’d think they were being catered to while everyone else tried to find a solution. 

That solution was apparently me, and the power of Berk behind me, and I don’t know how to feel about that but mostly, I’m a little preoccupied with what’s wrong with my eyelashes, now that I know Aurelia is on course to prevent a war. Can eyelashes be too long? What’s wrong with the size of my eyes? 

“I think we’ve got a plan,” Aurelia pats Elva gently on her unbandaged shoulder, “we’ll go back to Berk and assemble a first building crew and bring some materials. We’ll stick to just a few people so that it takes long enough to root everyone out this time. Eret, should you stay to make sure nothing escalates while I run back there and get supplies?” 

“Uh,” I look at Elva and the way she’s living and breathing and remember again that Fuse is unaware of that fact, “I’ve got to tell Fuse about…stuff.” 

Elva speaks up before Aurelia can insist that she could tell Fuse and not escalate the situation, “it’s best you two leave now, my guard…he’s not a friend, I don’t think,” she looks down at the blood seeping through my shirt from the mild spearing I experienced at the door. “It’d be better if it seemed like I sent you away to come back with a better offer. For now.” 

“Maybe you’ve got a shot at this,” Aurelia says appraisingly, shaking Elva’s hand. I do the same and she grips my hand a little harder, like she’s trying to seem more serious with me. 

My new best friend Gunther is standing outside but it doesn’t appear that he heard anything because he just sneers at us and returns attentively, and a little maliciously, to guarding his princess. He doesn’t wave back when I wave at him and I can honestly say I’m a little hurt. He stabbed me, I thought we were going to be close. 

“Not the worst in there,” Aurelia ignores John as we get back on board the boat and I jump onto the bench to grab my axe from the mast. “If I could make one suggestion though, it would be, oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s about time to marry your Fuse so that you have a word to call her that scares off betrothal offers.” 

“I have a Fuse to scare off betrothal offers.” I sit down, “are you going to give me extraneous advice the whole way back or are we going to talk about how to smoke these assholes out?” I push away from the dock and Aurelia takes the sail, turning the boat back towards home. 

“Eh, I was going to mix it up.”

“Of course you were.” 

00000

It’s past midnight when we get back to Berk and Bang grumbles at me when I swing onto his back and offer a hand to Aurelia. 

“Ride home?” 

“No thanks,” she yawns, “I’ll walk. I’ve got to figure out how to tell Arvid that I’m sending him on construction duty.” 

“That won’t work? You can’t just say ‘Arvid, you and Eret are going on construction duty to root out some dragon trappers that escaped the last purge’?” 

“It’ll work, but he won’t want to go, and he’ll pout.” She shrugs, “and if we’ve only got twelve hours before he has to leave for a week, I really don’t want him to spend it pouting–”

“Lalala!” I shove my fingers in my ears, “that’s what I get for offering you a ride home? You just…bring that up…with my brother and the you…” 

“Just because you have to tell Fuse that her target escaped doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be miserable.” 

“I just have to be double miserable, ok.” I shake my head at her, “Arvid at the docks, mid-morning, no mention of what happens between now and then, alright?” 

“Sure, Eret,” she waves and starts walking home, hands gesticulating as she talks to herself. 

Another reason I’m glad Fuse and I aren’t married. I can just tell her things. I mean, that might have to do more about Fuse being Fuse and Arvid’s tendency to pout but it’s just another thing to add to the list of things that would change if I did marry her. She wouldn’t get to blow up anyone trying to betrothe themselves to me, the chief would have a say in our relationship, I’d take a bunch more time trying to tell her things in a husbandly way and I don’t know how to do that. 

It’s not worth thinking about now and I kick Bang into the sky, spotting the telltale orange glow of a Thorston bonfire on the ridge and steering him towards it. 

How am I going to say this? I have to say it so that she doesn’t think finishing the job is on the table, because Elva seems kind of nice and harmless and incredibly understanding, all things considered. That and she’s helping us get rid of the rest of her dragon trapper problem, and she and Aurelia got to a solution pretty damn quickly, it’d be nice to have an ally that doesn’t try and pick fights before me so that I have to come in and clean up the mess. 

But Fuse isn’t going to like any of those reasons. She’s especially not going to like the fact that I’m going to be leaving for a week at a time and she can’t come with me. 

And I left when she thought I was mad at her. 

Fuck, maybe there’s no good way to say this. 

She’s standing and walking towards me before Bang even lands and when I jump off to face her, she’s wringing her hands, still looking at the middle of my face instead of my eyes, like she waited almost three solid days for me to answer if I was mad at her. 

“Come here,” I throw my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a too tight hug that traps her hands against my chest as I bury my face in her braid. “I’m not mad at you. I missed you.” 

Her whole body relaxes and she wiggles her hands out from between us and wraps them around my lower back, sighing into my shoulder. 

“How was it?” 

“Three days almost solid on a boat with my sister, my inferiority complex is at full steam,” I stall, holding onto the hug for another second before I have to again, deliver bad news. I swear, most of being chief is just hearing bad news, figuring out how it’s not that bad, and then telling it to people who assure me that it’s worse. “Did you wait up?” 

The crowd around the bonfire isn’t the usual Thorston-Ingerman group of twenty but I don’t really have the attention span to count everyone there. Two nights of sleeping in shifts when the water was still enough for me to trust Aurelia’s steering is catching up to me and Fuse takes most of my focus when I’m well rested. 

“Eret,” she grabs my waist and pushes me back a few inches to see my face. There’s a shiny flecked smudge of something across her forehead and I try to rest mine against it. She leans away so that I can’t, eyes serious and blue even in the dark and I wish her tactic of shoving me somewhere private worked on her, but there’s no way I’m breaking that focus. “How was it?” 

“We should go somewhere and talk,” I sigh, reluctant to let go but making due with holding her hand. 

I’m leaving in the morning and she doesn’t know. I’m going to be gone for another week and she doesn’t know. I want to tell Elva where to stick her giant craters, and for the record, that’s immediately and wholly into the her problem bucket. 

But I promised. And it’s the right thing to do. And I can list out all the reasons why but I don’t want to think about them. Even though I have to, because I have to be at the woodpile in six hours with the chief’s clearance to load up building materials. 

Ugh. 

“We’re at war?” She doesn’t move when I tug on her hand and Darren hoots behind her from the log he’s sitting on. 

“Did you hear that? My little sister started a war!” 

“We’re not at war!” I call back to them, silencing tired cheering into grumbles. “It’s a long story, can we just go somewhere I can sit down to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, my parents are asleep,” she guides me towards the front door with a purpose, ignoring her brother hooting again. I glare at him but the effect is lost in the dark, even though I’m still blushing when she practically drags me into her room and shuts the door quietly behind us. 

Oh gods, her bed looks so comfortable. My back hurts so much. I haven’t sat on a cushion, let alone slept in a bed since she beat me up with the floor of her shed. Everything hurts. 

“You said you wanted to sit down,” she gestures impatiently at the bed and starts pacing, hands behind her back.

“If I sit down I’m going to fall asleep,” I wipe my sea salty hands over my face and groan. I should stand. At least to talk through this. “Ok, ok. Let’s just talk through this really fast and then I’ll take a quick nap, assuming you aren’t mad at me after I talk to you, and then I’ll go start talking to the chief before I leave tomorrow–”

“We’re leaving tomorrow?” She picks up a rucksack from the rack on the wall and starts stuffing clothes into it. I reach out and pat her arm, wincing before I even say it. 

“You can’t come with me. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” 

“What?” She drops the half filled rucksack and I can’t even look at her without wanting to abandon the whole idea. I look at her shelves instead, rebuilt after the fire and fuller than they used to be. It’s not just clothes and drawings now. There’s that book of old designs I had Rolf bind for her for Snoggletog, its cover always slightly open because of the wrinkled pages I couldn’t quite get flat. That was right after the fire, most of her things were gone but I had a few old things stored in the backroom of the forge. There’s her old vest, positively dingy next to the new leather one. There’s her ready tied pack of blankets, always ready for me to tell her we have to go somewhere. 

I promised. 

I’m the worst. I deserve how mad she’s going to be at me. 

“That tribe you bombed…what we really didn’t expect is there were trappers within them that they were trying to figure out how to surrender to us. Apparently the letter the chief got had some sort of code in it, asking for our help and well, you happened to take out most of the trappers with your uh, little bombing trip.” I pause and wait for her to form an expression. She’s still blank, staring at me, hand outstretched from dropping her rucksack on the floor. 

“What about the princess?” She asks. I edge between her and the door, chewing on the inside of my cheek for a second. 

“Her name is Elva, she’s pretty severely burned, her dad is dead, but she’s in charge now.” I put my arm out to stop her if she makes a move towards the shed, “she asked for our help rebuilding and rooting out any remaining dragon trappers still with them in exchange for…I mean, I don’t think she could wage war on us, it’s a pretty tiny new tribe. But she’s smart and Aurelia seemed to like talking with her. And that is valuable water. And we have to take care of the trappers that we know about.” 

“She’s alive.” 

“Yep.” 

“I missed,” she crosses her arms and sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. “And you talked to her. And she sent a letter betrothing herself to you.” 

“Ruffnut told you that part, huh?” I sit down next to her, leaving a couple of inches of space for her to be mad, and the bed is so soft I could melt into it. It smells like Fuse and soap and soft warm blankets and I’m aware of how bad I smell. Oh gods, I need a bath. That’s not going to happen, probably. “I didn’t know she wrote it herself until I was talking to her. Not that it matters. Not that I would marry her–”

“I trust you,” she cuts me off, “it’s her I don’t trust. It’s anyone who doesn’t know about…”

“Hey,” I risk putting an arm around her and she’s rigid but doesn’t shove me off, “I’m the only one you need to trust.” 

“I don’t trust myself,” she shakes her head, “I’d push harder to go with you but, what would I do if I saw her? On top of sending you that letter, now she’s the one target I’ve ever missed.” 

“Something crazy, probably,” I kiss her temple and linger there for a second, the comfort of the mattress leaking up my spine like a slow bloom speed stinger hit, rendering me slowly useless. “I half expected you to try and get past me to get more bombs and try again.” 

“I thought about it,” she nudges my head away from hers and shifts to rest against my shoulder, head heavy on my collar bone. “But if I do, you might have to leave for longer.” 

“I’m sorry,” I rub her back, trying not to melt backwards into the mattress, “I hate it. It’s the right thing to do but I really don’t want to do it.” 

“How long are you going to be gone?” 

“A week.” 

She groans. I give up and lay down, kicking off my boots and curling up around her. I shouldn’t fall asleep here but I don’t think I really have a choice at this point. 

“I forgot to mention. A week at a time, it might take a few to get everything figured out. Maybe longer if it leads to other dragon trappers.” 

She groans louder, grabbing my arm over her waist with both hands and pressing it into her stomach.

“Of course.” 

“Are you mad at me?” I yawn, nuzzling against the nape of her neck and adjusting the pillow under my head. Pillow. An actual pillow. 

“Not mad enough to be worth missing you for a week without this.” 

“Fair enough,” I close my eyes, “can you wake me up before dawn? I’ve got to go haggle building materials from the chief.” 

“Yeah, I’ll come with you for that at least.” She strokes the back of my hand with gentle fingertips, and I feel momentarily guilty for getting salt all over her bed. “Get some sleep.” 

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smitelout achieves Icon Status and Eret is flummoxed by life (again, eternally)

“I have to say this is…elegant.” The chief hesitates before patting me on the shoulder but I allow it, relaxing slightly with the praise. I know Aurelia means well and I know she’s been shoving suggestions for how to deal with issues on Berk while I’m gone at me all morning because she’s trying to help, but a little nice goes a long way when I’ve had so little sleep. 

“Thanks.” 

“And it’s complete luck that Fuse managed to hit some of the right people even if it was the wrong thing–”

“I don’t think that matters as much as you learning not to push her,” I raise an eyebrow at him, “you did learn that, right?” 

“I’ll talk to her this week, I…” He builds up to say something but thinks better of it, holding out his hand for me to shake. “As much as I wish you’d make it official, I know Fuse is going to be around forever and maybe I just need to get to know her better. I think I’d half convinced myself she wasn’t a Thorston or something.” 

“She’s a full Thorston alright.” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and I look over at Fuse helping Arvid load the supply ship we’re sending along with a crew of six. I don’t want this to move too quickly, so we’re only bringing Bang and Wingspark to help build. We want time for people to trust us enough to slip up. 

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he shrugs, “if Aurelia lets me do anything, that is.” 

“Good luck with that,” I sigh and reflexively check my back for my axe one more time, “See you next week, chief. It’s about a six hour flight if you need me before then.” 

I feel like Ingrid her first time leaving Finn alone with the grandparents. She stood in the Jorgenson doorway for the better part of an hour, wringing her hands and telling Snotlout again and again where the food was. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” the chief shakes his head like Snotlout insisting that yes, in fact, he does know where food is in his own house where he lives, “Good luck.” 

Fuse kisses me on the cheek and squeezes my hand before I get on the boat and as much as I want to comfort her, I know nothing I can say will make that nervous, jealous, guilty look in her eyes any better, so with one last tight hug, I jump up beside Arvid. He immediately takes the helm and the four volunteers he found listen patiently through my instructions to work slowly and talk often before making themselves comfortable for the long trip. 

“You look like shit,” Arvid comments when I sit down next to him and I rub my eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

“I know where we’re going, you should go get some sleep,” he nudges me towards my bedroll, which does look awfully tempting with the early spring sun warming the faded green fabric. “You remember how to do that, right?” 

“Sleep? I slept some at Fuse’s last night, I’m fine.” 

“You look like a draugr.” 

“Better than pretty, I’ll take it.” I sigh to bite back a yawn and Arvid raises his eyebrow at me. “I can take a shift steering.” 

“Or you can go take a nap,” he elbows me so that I half fall off the bench and stagger to my feet to avoid it. One of the volunteers laughs and I glare back at him, rubbing my side. “You’re shit at sailing anyway, I don’t need you breathing down my neck the whole time.” 

“Fine.” I unroll my blankets and pull them towards the side railing where there’s a patch of shade, “wake me up if–”

“If anything happens, yeah yeah, of course.” 

Nothing happens. I sleep until the sea gets choppy a little past midnight and Arvid finally lets me take a shift so that he can get some sleep. When we see the island on the horizon the next day, I recognize Lennart’s spindly hammer pounding on the dock, which is all of three or four boards longer than last time, and he runs up the hill. I dock the boat and as I’m tying it to the end of the dock and ordering my crew to hook building supplies up to Bang and Wingspark, Princess Elva comes down the path, leaning delicately on Lennart’s arm and favoring her still bandaged shoulder as she greets us. 

“No Aurelia?” She looks around and Arvid steps forward, shaking her hand. 

“She sent her husband to do the dirty work,” he introduces himself and I stare at her bandaged arm for a second before remembering the extra peace offering I threw in my bag yesterday. 

“Oh!” I jump back on the boat and pull the small jar of Gobber’s burn salve out of the side pocket of my ruck sack, tossing it to Lennart, who flinches and lets it drop. Nerves of steel on that guy. 

“What are you throwing at her?” He scowls between me and Arvid and I roll my eyes. 

“It’s for your burns,” I pick up the jar and hand it directly to her, “it’s a lifesaver, literally, it’ll keep any infection away.” 

“Oh,” she opens the jar and sniffs it, nose wrinkling, “it’s…thank you.” 

“It’s a little potent, yeah, but it’ll help.” 

She thanks me again and leads us to the village, which doesn’t appear to be in better shape than it was last time I saw it. A lot of cleaning up has to be done before we can even try and start building so I assign my volunteers to help villagers move rubble and try to figure out a way to fill in the deepest craters and Arvid and I set about flying the wood up to the square. 

As we’re getting on our dragons he gives me one of those brother looks, like he knows something I don’t and I’m well rested enough for once to find it irritating. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“That’s the princess?” He shakes his head, “you know, Thorston is a little…extreme, but I get what she’s dealing with. You’re clueless.” 

“Yes, I’m aware, people tell me that all the time.” 

He taps the silver band on his finger, “you could save us rebuilding a few villages if you, you know, made it obvious that you’re taken.” 

“Then when would I get to rebuild villages?” I glare at him, “you can question my life choices later, let’s get going.” 

I’m shocked by how quickly the first week goes. Mostly we’re clearing rubble and then I help Elva plan out a bit more structure to the village. She’s smart but hasn’t done this before, and it takes a couple of days to plot out where she might want a square and a forge and a few communal areas. The plan to identify her dissenters is working already and one of them falls off a cliff, completely by accident, when assigned to work with Arvid for the morning and scout granite. 

Arvid’s black eye is an accident as well, of course, it’s really unfortunate for all parties. 

My first visit home lasts all of three hours, because Aurelia has a fresh crew of volunteers lined up at the docks with a load of paving shale that Fuse chipped off for us to take with. She’s disappointed when I say I’m not staying, but not as disappointed as I am when she can’t help us load the boat because she and the chief are scouting something up North. 

At least they’re getting along, that’s what matters. 

The second week goes more quickly than the first. I don’t know any of my volunteers very well and I fall into that easy rhythm of giving orders and the monotony of having them followed. Two more trappers make themselves obvious by asking bizarre questions about keeping Bang’s scales soft, but I don’t do anything about it yet because I want to trace it back to their ringleader. They have to have someone smarter than those two yak-brains in charge if they’ve managed to keep mostly secret for this long. 

I learn more about Elva’s tribe and how they got into trapping only five years ago, when dragons got so scarce that risking it became lucrative. I don’t tell her much about my role in all of that, it’s not something I like to broadcast. As much as I want trappers being open with me, I’m not willing to tell them there’s an alpha Night Fury on Berk keeping dragon numbers high even as they get scarcer down south. 

Mom invites Fuse to a family dinner my second break home and as happy as I am that they’re talking and that Mom even asks Fuse about a couple of charges she’s been developing, it eats up more Fuse time than I’d like it to. The chief enforces the ‘no shutting my door’ rule with a stupid, knowing look and I could hit him if my hands weren’t sore from nailing house frames together with a rock, because we have to build a forge first to make hammers. 

Of course, I make the mistake of mentioning this, and Smitelout volunteers herself to come out for week three, stating that I wouldn’t know how to build a forge if Brokkr himself designed it for me, and that leads to the longest day and a half long boat ride of my life. She is efficient though and by the last day of my third week of work, the hearth of the forge is glowing dimly and she’s heating up some iron ore I blasted free of the North shore. 

I see Elva crossing the partially paved square and land next to her, swinging off of Bang to talk. 

“Hey, good news, I found some iron on your island.” I gesture in the direction I came from, “I blasted kind of a cave into the vein, you should be able to extract more with some pick-axes once we get the forge producing them.” 

“Really?” She reminds me of Aurelia when she gets good news, a kind of focus twitching across her features like she just moved a piece on her internal maces and talons board. “That is good news, here I thought we were going to have to trade with Berk for nails forever.” 

“Nope, and that’s good news for us too.” There’s something different about her and I frown until I notice the long, soft sleeve of her dress that’s replacing the bandage I’ve gotten so used to. “Oh! You got your bandages off! That’s great.” 

“I don’t know how great it is,” she tugs her sleeve down over the edge of the blotchy scar on her wrist, her expression shy, “the scar isn’t pretty.” 

It’s one of those times when I can really see how young she is and how naive, inexperienced in not just leading but also interacting with people. Her father kept her pretty sheltered, from what I can see, and I’ve got experience with that too. She reminds me of myself, leaving the shadow of the Hofferson name for the first time and trying to take charge. 

“I’m sure it’s not so bad.” 

“It’s…don’t worry about it.” She lies like a leader already, covering up her frown with a grateful, blank look. “The salve really helped, I think, thank you for that.” 

“No, it’s no problem,” I pat my shirt over the still slightly raised strip of fireworm scars. “I’m no stranger to burns, no one deserves to deal with that.” 

“Yours aren’t like this,” she crosses her arms, self conscious, staring at the back of her hand like it’s foreign to her. 

“No, really,” I pull my shirt over my head and gesture at the scars across my chest and around my arm as well as the patch on my hip that healed just slightly thicker and pinker than the skin around it. “I fell into a volcano about four years ago,” I point at the fireworms, “well, I got blasted out of a volcano, landed in fireworm caves, and the little buggers took it upon themselves to try and heal me. Want to guess how that went?” 

She stares at the scars with wide eyes, her hand twitching and revealing slightly more of the blotchy pink pattern on her lower arm. It reminds me of my hip and I turn that a little more towards her so that she can see where it spreads to my lower back, a slightly rough edge near my spine between damaged and pale skin. 

“This is four years on, it’s still fading, it gets really dark if I’m out in the sun for too long but mine used to be way worse than yours. And don’t get me started on how many times these blistered and peeled,” I pat the fireworm on my arm, “I was in bandages for more than a month, you got them off sooner than me, it’ll be faded in no time.” 

“I…” she looks at my scars with a wide eyed, pensive expression, “that’s–”

A hammer flies out of nowhere and hits me dead center in the chest. 

“Oof!” I clutch my stomach and fall to my knees, head slumping forward onto the ground. 

“Thor’s beard, twerp, put your tits away, no one wants to see that,” Smitelout’s voice clangs around my ringing head and I fall onto my side, knees curled to my chest as I wheeze. “I’ve got that iron heated up, come help me pull nails or it’s going to take me all Odin-damned day and I’d like to get home tomorrow before my kid doubles in size.” 

“Ouch,” I wheeze, squinting up at her. She picks up my shirt and drops it on my head. 

“No, go ahead, take your time,” she scoffs and picks up the hammer, “good time for a nap, Chief Twerpling.” 

“Fuck,” I cough, managing to sit up as she stomps away, grumbling about how lazy I am. 

“Are you ok?” Elva offers me her hand and helps me up, stumbling slightly when I lean too hard on her, used to Fuse’s invisible strength. 

“I’ll live,” I look down at my stomach and the already red imprint of a hammer indented into painfully twitching muscles. “She’s right, no one wants to see this,” I gesture at the injury and pull my shirt on with a wince, pushing hair that’s falling out of its tie behind my ear, “that’s going to be black and blue by morning.” 

“Your other men respect you,” she looks curious and frustrated in Smitelout’s direction and I hear the rhythmic clang of her evil hammer on the granite anvil she crudely fashioned in the forge. “Not that one.” 

“No, she doesn’t respect anyone,” I laugh and rub my chest, wincing when it throbs against the touch. “She’s brilliant in the forge though, and she’s right, I should go help her.” 

“Why does she get to talk to you that way?” 

“Mostly, she’s my sister’s…” I hesitate over girlfriend, again, because they’re more than that. They have a kid together, they live together. “My sister’s Smitelout, I guess.” 

“Like your Fuse?” She cocks her head, “you Berkians have a very strange way of talking about relationships. I’ve only known betrothed and married. And it’s always been a man and woman.” 

“I wouldn’t call us traditional, that’s fair.” 

“Are you coming?” Smitelout calls after me, “Iron’s getting cold.” 

“Sorry, I’m recovering from blunt trauma to the chest, give me a second to hobble over there,” I call to her with cupped hands and she laughs. “I should go help her, I’ll see you around, alright?” 

Elva waves me off and I jog over to the forge, picking up one of the rocks I’ve been using as a hammer and helping Smitelout hold the long extrusion of iron that she’s deftly clipping the end of and pounding to make a row of neat nails. 

“Maybe don’t take me down for no reason in front of the enemy, alright?” I try to order her, but I know it won’t stick. “They all know now that my weakness is having a giant hammer thrown at my chest with force.” 

“I don’t want to see your gross scars, twerp,” she gives me a sharp, honest look, dark blue eyes threatening like twilight in a hostile situation, “but I’ve got better taste than most people. And I’ve never tried to get betrothed to you.” 

“That’s not entirely fair,” I adjust the hem of my shirt. I didn’t think about that. I don’t think about things like that, it’s just…Elva looked self-conscious and she’s my friend, I think, and I remember Fuse saying that she didn’t trust herself to come with me. “It was used as a threat by both of our parents at various times.” 

“Not the same and you know it.” 

She’s uncharacteristically silent as we work through the stack of ore and I try not to read too much into it. 

I don’t end up going home at all the next day. It turns out that Smitelout’s attack on me was smarter than anyone could have predicted, because two men approach her after dark and ask her to join them in going against me. They’re dumb enough to list names and a few I recognize from another tribe out West. I send a letter back for Aurelia to get terror mail to their chief and ask for a few reinforcements in the next group of volunteers and explain that it feels too dangerous for me to leave right now. 

I spend the night camping in the forge, because it’s warm and the structure nearest to Princess Elva’s hut, which Gunther still guards with his spear pointed at my back. Bang doesn’t take his eye off of him but I still can’t really sleep with that kind of audience and I’m tired enough to throw myself into making hatchets and hammers with a mind that doesn’t wander for the three days until new volunteers arrive. 

Ingrid is with them and she greets Elva with her most casual axe twirl coupled with that intimidating expression before zeroing in on me. 

“You need to go home.” 

“It’s delicate here right now,” I wave the new volunteers off with a vague order to make themselves useful and a mention of the houses sporting half finished roofs. “I’ll go at the end of this week, ok?” 

“You look like shit,” she pokes me in the stomach with the handle of her axe, “you need a break.” 

“Did Arvid tell you to pass on his compliments?” 

“No, it’s my own observation.” She follows me back to the village and raises an eyebrow at the progress. Not that she’s seen it before, but I’d like to think progress is obvious anyway. The square is fully paved with the shale Fuse chipped and the first two finished houses are the start of a neat row. I got the roof on the forge, but it still lacks walls, which makes it a better vantage point anyway. “You’re really doing a lot here.” 

I pull her in close to whisper in her ear, “Smitelout’s unprovoked aggression was a good thing for once, a couple of idiots dropped a bunch of names. One of them is someone I’ve traded with out West in an entirely different tribe, this might be a bigger group of trappers than we thought.” 

“She told me about that,” Ingrid nods, “Aurelia sent Arvid and Fuse to scope it out.” 

“Fuse?” My heart lurches and Ingrid raises an eyebrow at me. 

“Yes, Fuse, did you forget?” 

“No,” I shake my head, blinking tired eyes, “not–not intentionally. Not at all. I’m just really busy here and I’m getting somewhere. And honestly, I miss her so much I wouldn’t be able to get anything done if I thought about it too much. Fuck.” I rub my temple, “and now she’s not safe on Berk and I’m not going to be able to focus at all.” 

“She’ll be fine,” Ingrid scoffs, looking around at the biggest crater that we haven’t even started dealing with yet. “I’m more worried about everyone else.” 

“She won’t do anything. Arvid keeps her calm, that’s a good match–”

“That’s why Aurelia did it. You know, you can trust us to do things, Squirt, we’ve been with you every step of the way. We know what we’re doing.” She claps me on the shoulder with metal fingers that sting, “now, where’s this princess?” 

“Elva?” 

“Are there any other princesses I should know about?” 

“Why does it feel like you’re keeping tabs on me?” 

“Because I am. You’re obviously too strung out to keep tabs on yourself,” she pats my cheek and grimaces, “you haven’t even trimmed your beard, no one can see your pretty face, except maybe that’s a good thing–”

“Can you all stop with the pretty thing?” I scratch my chin and it is getting a little itchy. That realization leads to a string of others, like how my chest still hurts from Smitelout’s hammer and my hip is sore from sleeping on the ground and I’m hungry and don’t quite remember when I last ate. That and I smell, I need a bath and a change of clothes and–

No. Not really time. I’ve got to get Ingrid up to speed. 

“Are you still with me?” She smirks, “Thor’s beard, Eret, you’re draugr impression is creeping me out.” 

“Ok, let’s try my tour guide impression,” I grab her wrist and start showing her the village. 

She’s not nice to Elva either, which isn’t going to help anything, but I can’t control how my siblings talk to people. And it doesn’t really matter, because it’s Ingrid and from the second she gets the first comment on her hand, she works harder than anyone, taking over building a second row of houses without asking me first. 

I don’t take the control back, maybe she’s right, I’m burning out. 

She doesn’t even have to nag me to get onto the boat and I’m surprised when she leaves Lennart in charge of a small crew of villagers to keep working until the next group of volunteers arrives. I guess he is sort of Rolf like in the most annoying ways, and Ingrid has always gotten along with Rolf for some reason. And having Ingrid trust him makes me feel like I could back off for a little bit. Maybe take a couple of weeks at home and catch up with whatever Fuse and Arvid found out west. 

Maybe Fuse and I could even go check up on it ourselves. Even if we don’t have to, it might be fun. I think I’d trade the comfort of my mattress for some uninterrupted time with her. It’s a sacrifice, my back reminds me, but one I’m willing to make. 

There’s a small crowd at the docks when we land and Smitelout is at the front of it, holding little Finn’s hand. He squeals and runs to Ingrid, shiny black hair bouncing in the sun. Sometimes, I can almost see the family resemblance Snotlout is always harping on about, except for the fact that Ingrid found him almost two weeks travel out east and he has the deep brown eyes and golden skin to prove it. 

Fuse is also there, and I shuffle up to her, bag over my shoulder getting heavier with each step. Maybe it’s seeing Berk in one piece or Fuse’s relief that I’m at least definitionally holding together, but the urge to sleep for a week is mounting to a level almost impossible to suppress. 

“Hey,” I greet her, “I’d hug you but I don’t think you want to smell that much of me right now.” 

“I don’t care,” she hugs me briefly, one arm tangling in the strap of my bag, and pulls away with her nose wrinkled. “Maybe I care a little bit.” 

“Yeah, it’s bad. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” the muscle at the corner of her jaw twitches, “how’s it going over there? How’s the princess?” 

It’s a bad attempt at sounding casual and I smile. I missed her stiff tone and how direct she is and the way she’s looking at my gross, overgrown beard with that territorial fondness instead of disgust. 

“I love–” It almost falls out before I can stop it and I stutter to divert the sentence, “how you uh…I love your…I love how you’re here. To greet me. Right when I got home. I love that.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“The princess is fine,” I wave my arm and get a whiff of my own stench, “really the least of my concerns, behind getting a bath and seeing you and checking in on things around here and seeing you–”

“You already said seeing me.” 

“Oh, sorry, I’m out of it,” I shake my head and grin at her, stepping as close as I dare before my bath, “but it’s ok because seeing you is like, every other item on my list.” 

“How long are you home this time?” 

“At least a week. Starting to think two because I’m just…I missed you a lot.” 

“I missed you too,” she smiles and I lean further towards two weeks as she waves me towards the hot springs, “go take a bath, I need to talk to you about something but you do smell pretty…strong.” 

“I’m not even offended,” I kiss her on the cheek before stepping out of her breathing room.

“Alright, meet me at my place after?” She asks in a tone that makes me think this specifically isn’t an open door conversation. 

I don’t think I can do that right now. I mean, I could try. I’m always willing to try, but I don’t think I have it in me.

“Sure,” I volunteer myself to at least make the effort and say a difficult goodbye, considering it’s only for an hour. 

It takes most of that hour to feel human again, scrubbing everything and trimming my beard to a manageable length and combing about a month’s worth of leaves and tangles out of my hair. I know I should go check in with the chief before I take an afternoon with Fuse, but I can’t bring myself to do what’s right, for once, because the more I think about it, the more I have no idea what Fuse could have to talk to me about. 

She rarely asks for privacy unless she wants privacy, she’s far more likely to blurt out whatever she’s thinking in the middle of a crowd or in front of our parents than she is to plan a talk. 

I wonder if she’s mad at me for not coming home last week. She didn’t seem like it, but she rarely does. She’s good at waiting for a calm moment to get her feelings out, so she could have been keeping it under the surface. 

Either way, the pull to her shed after I’m dressed in clean clothes is nearly magnetic and I let my hair sun dry on the way there, avoiding cutting through town so that I can’t get dragged into any other conversations on the way. She’s sitting at her workbench with the door open when I get there and I knock on the inside of it, wincing when she drops whatever she’s working on. Twitchy in a telltale way that stirs a reaction even as just thinking about the hard stone floor makes my hip ache. 

“What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” she says it like someone rehearsed it with her and stands up to light a candle before pulling me into the shed by my wrist and shutting the door behind me. I hold my hands out to catch her when she jumps at me, but instead she just stares for a second, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ears and cocking her head at my hands like she’s not sure what I’m doing. 

“Oh, I thought–”

“What?” 

“Nothing,” I tuck my hands in my pockets, leaning back against the wall and trying not to let the half dark put me to sleep, “what did you want to talk about?” 

“Ok, I just…” She holds her hands out for a second like she’s trying to placate me before they clap back to her sides and her expression returns to something blunt that I recognize as nervous. It makes me nervous and I start gesturing at her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home last weekend–”

“No, that’s not–I know I’m supposed to ease into this, but I–”

“Ease into what?” I laugh, “what’s going on?” 

“I think I’m pregnant.” 

My stomach turns. My heart thuds and I stare at her and through her and at the door behind her all at once. I haven’t ever felt this awake in my life. 

“Oh.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh.” 

Fuse isn’t like other people. It’s what I love most about her. She doesn’t take silence to mean anything other than silence. I don’t think her mind races like mine does, hers paces carefully forward, eyes farther on the future than I can conceptualize. 

My brain is awfully thor-damned eloquent, all things considered. 

Fuse thinks she’s pregnant. I don’t remember a time Fuse has ever been wrong about anything that mattered. 

My mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out. I’m not sure air goes in. 

“Eret,” she prompts me, gently, crossing her arms, and that’s just Fuse. It’s Fuse and Fuse isn’t pregnant. How can Fuse be pregnant? It’s Fuse. It’s…

“How?” 

“After I…you know, bombed the princess who tried to marry you, I didn’t drink the herb tea I usually do and…I mean, statistically.” She sounds like rationality distilled, like only Fuse can do. 

I gulp. 

“Oh.” 

That’s reasonable. That’s a reason. Of course I know how this is a possibility, this being Fuse being pregnant with my baby. A baby that we made. A baby that’s going to be a baby. 

A baby that’s half Fuse and half me and Gods, is there any way to make sure it’s more Fuse than it is me? That thought makes my heart swell almost painfully, the idea of another Fuse in the world. Another Fuse that I get to love and take care of and keep safe and I think I might cry. Two Fuses. 

“How long have you known?” My voice cracks across the question and Fuse shrugs, cool under pressure, even though she’s the one dealing with being pregnant and I’m just the one hearing about it. 

I haven’t been around pregnant people aside from my mom, years ago, and that went horribly and now I’m terrified. I understand the chief’s grief at a new level and I’ve known about this all of a few minutes. And women die from having kids, Fuse, I…it’s too dangerous, she can’t be pregnant. I think I might throw up. 

“Last week I went on a scouting trip with Arvid and I felt really awful and tired and he kept asking if you knew I was sick and I realized I was late. And I’ve never lost track of that before but with you being gone I guess it just slipped my mind.” 

“Understandable.” 

“I don’t understand what your face means right now.” Her voice trembles a little bit, somewhere between scared and nervous. “How do you feel about this?” 

“How do you feel about it?” 

“Nauseous.” 

“I’m sorry,” I finally get my feet to move and rest both hands on her shoulders, stroking the shoulder seam of her shirt with my thumbs, “is that normal? Are you ok?” 

“It’s normal.” She nods, biting her lip so that her cute little snaggletooth catches the candlelight and my heart thuds again. Two Fuses. I feel lucky and terrified and unsure if it’s rude or not to kiss a nauseous person. I’ve never known Fuse to be anything but healthy and stable, even when she had that cold last winter it only lasted a couple of days. “Really, Eret, are you–”

“I know you’re nauseous, does that–I mean, even though you’re nauseous, is it ok if I think I’m kind of happy about it?” 

She smiles, one of those rare, wide smiles I rarely see unless the rubble is still on fire and I hug her too tight, kissing the side of her head. She doesn’t feel pregnant, her stomach is still flat against mine and I don’t know when that will change. I have so many questions. I rock back and forth slightly, burying my nose in her hair and kissing the soft skin behind her ear. 

“It’s really early, a lot of stuff could go wrong.” 

“Shh, it’s going to be great. You’re going to be great,” I pull back and kiss her forehead, “this is–I’m still wrapping my head around it, I…” 

All of the nerves condense into a molten ball of purpose and dread in my stomach and I look down at her, exhaling shakily. 

“What?” She frowns, “you’re giving me whiplash here–”

“I love you.” 

It’s too loud. It echoes. The candle flickers in the breeze that it makes. Fuse cocks her head and wraps her arms around my neck, drumming her fingertips on my shoulder. 

“Ok,” she narrows her eyes, “I know that.” 

“That’s not…the dream response, especially right now.” 

“You sign all your letters and notes to me: Love, Eret.” She backtracks slightly, “why are you so nervous about saying it?”

“It’s kind of a big deal, I guess,” I bark out a nervous laugh, “the first time you say ‘I love you’ to someone is a big deal and it just finally felt right with you being pregnant and all.” The word sounds absurd and impossible and as terrifying as the fact that she hasn’t said it back yet. And she’s not happy about it or at least she didn’t say she was happy about it. Being nauseous is a good excuse but still, what if she’s not happy about it and I am and I just messed up by rubbing her face in it? 

“Finally? How long have you wanted to say it?” 

“A year,” I snort, “since the fire.” 

She shakes her head at me, exasperated, and kisses my cheek. 

“That’s what all those really weird compliments were.” She scans my still nervous face, “what is it now?” 

“You didn’t say it back and I know you’re nauseous but are you happy about this? Or at least–”

“I thought it was obvious, of course I love you.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal for her to take the massive, crushing weight off of my chest. 

“I don’t mind you saying it, sometimes,” I take a step back to lean against the wall and she follows, resting her head on my shoulder. “If you want.” 

“And I don’t know how I feel yet.” She yawns, “besides tired and nauseous and just kind of off. It doesn’t seem real, I can’t see it, I can’t touch it or prove it.” 

“Ok, the concept then,” I kiss the top of her head, “I mean…we’re going to have a baby? Does that–how do you feel about that?” 

“Nauseous,” she rubs my sides with gentle palms, sliding cool hands under my shirt and tracing my scars. “Tired.” 

It’s not the answer I’m looking for but I don’t mind it as much as I probably should, because it’s Fuse and she loves me and I feel things loudly and quickly and she tends to work on them a bit longer. And I’m exhausted, doubly so from telling Fuse that I love her which…I was expecting more of a response, but this is fine too. Better than fine. 

And she’s pregnant. With a baby. A baby that’s also going to be my baby and that baby will expect me to be a father to it and I can’t even think through freaking out about that right now. 

I think if I don’t get somewhere soft and horizontal, I’m going to pass out on the floor right where I’m standing. 

“Can I interest you in tea and a nap?” I kiss her head again, rubbing her lower back through her smooth leather vest. 

“Do open door rules still exist if your mom and the chief know I’m pregnant?” She asks, pushing her face into the front of my shirt and sighing. 

Shit. I haven’t thought about that. 

If we tell anyone, the marriage pressure is going to triple. More than triple. It’s going to be ten times worse. A hundred times worse. 

And if I marry Fuse because she’s pregnant and it ruins everything, am I going to resent her? Am I going to resent the baby that comes from it? 

Maybe I’m more like the chief than I thought. Maybe I just have to pass through all the milestones and Gods. Fuck. 

“Of course they do,” she stands up straight and adjusts my shirt, “those rules are about marriage, not babies.” She’s as wry as Fuse ever gets, her smile slanted and understanding and as exhausted as I feel. 

“I love you.” Saying it the second time feels better than the first. Somehow, the person fighting me the least is the person whose opinion I care about the most, and she’s the only one who ever gives that to me. 

“I love you too.” She says it because I need to hear it and I kiss her forehead. 

“So, are we on the same page with the not telling anyone right now?” 

“Well, Rolf knows.” 

“Huh?” 

She steps back, sheepish, reaching back to open the door and blow out the candle. She looks tired in a way she didn’t when it closed, faint bluish bruises more obvious under her eyes, like she’s also slumping under the relief of shedding secrets. 

“I went to the library and asked for a book on being pregnant. He brought me back to his house and we talked.” She shrugs, “he brought up marriage a lot, it’s…”

I’ve seen Fuse not struggle for words this much after not sleeping for three days. Is being pregnant really that exhausting? 

Is Rolf going to tell Mom? 

That’s a question I can answer, at least, Rolf loves having information that other people don’t have. If he shared his knowledge, what would he lord over us all? 

“What is it?”

“It’s best if we don’t tell anyone.” Her face is almost green in full sunlight and she reaches for me like an answer. “We have some time. I just…I’m still wrapping my head around it. It didn’t feel real at all until I told you and it still…I just feel tired.” 

That sounds like a trick. It’s too easy that she’s agreeing with me but I’m too tired to figure out why right now so I grab her hand and start walking towards the chief’s house, mostly in silence. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s that everything I do want to say spirals immediately into ten more things I don’t know what to think about. I need to sleep. Fuse needs tea. 

Pregnant Fuse who doesn’t want to tell anyone. She could have not told me, I guess, and the weight of her trust is both welcome and terrifying. We can’t not tell anyone forever, but we can put it off today. And tomorrow. And maybe even until things feel a little more stable and I know what’s going on around here. 

“Knock knock,” I open the door to the chief’s house and see Mom sitting at the table, fixing a tear in what looks like Stoick’s shirt. 

“You still live here, last time I checked,” she sets it down and looks up, smiling at Fuse with a friendly familiarity that I can’t wrap my head around, “no need to knock.” She walks over to me, putting one palm on each of my cheeks and looking at me carefully, her lips pursed. “Why is it that you always come back looking like you didn’t sleep the entire time you were gone?” 

“Because he doesn’t sleep,” Fuse and my mom share a sigh and I can’t say I’ve ever felt ganged up on like this in this particular set of company. 

And I have a secret. A big secret. Mom is going to read it all over my face. 

“And you’re too skinny,” she thumps my stomach, right on the hammer shaped dent in me that’s just starting to be more green than blue. “You flinched, you’re hurt, what did you do?” 

“What did I do?” I let go of Fuse’s hand and pull my shirt up to my armpits to show off the bruise. My scars are bright pink against the yellowing edges of it and it’s still throbbing from scrubbing it in the bath. “This is Smitelout’s handiwork, you should be asking her what she did to me.” 

“Right, I’m sure she had no reason at all.” Mom raises an eyebrow at me and I know instantly that Smitelout told her about it already. 

And I remember Smitelout pointing out Elva’s attempted betrothal in the crude forge, which isn’t really a thing I need to mention around Fuse, especially because now she’s pregnant, and isn’t stress bad for that? That’s what the chief was always saying about Mom’s pregnancy–and I really need to stop thinking the P word in front of Mom, at least until Fuse and I have time to figure this out. 

And until she makes a decision about feeling something other than nauseous, because I know she needs time, but it’s already starting to make me nauseous. 

“Tea?” I ask Fuse, tugging my shirt back down and avoiding eye contact by walking to the hearth and hanging the kettle back over the fire. It takes a couple pieces of kindling to get the coals going again and I can feel Fuse’s eyes digging into my back. 

“Sure,” she takes too long to answer and I hear her and Mom ignoring me as they sit down at the table. 

“How was your trip with Arvid last week?” Mom starts sewing again as I pour the tea into a mug, setting it in front of Fuse. The smell makes her wrinkle her nose and she spins it between her hands, a little green again as she stares at the table. 

“Fine. Nothing too thrilling.” 

What if she’s sick and she’s not telling anyone because she thinks she’s p–the other reason? I glance at Mom like she could have read that slip up in my head, but she’s sewing without looking up, and my tired eyes start to itch. 

“You’ll have to tell me about it,” I rub Fuse’s shoulder with my fingertips, tracing along the sleeve of her vest. “Upstairs, maybe? I’m dead on my feet.” 

“Sure,” she stands up with the tea and I brace her with a hand on the small of her back, because she really does look green and tired and like she’s going to fall over if I let her negotiate the stairs by herself. 

Mom narrows her eyes at me and I pause, shrugging. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she looks between me and Fuse, opening her mouth to admonish me and I roll my eyes. 

“I’ll leave the door open, I know the rules.” 

Not that they worked, really, because whatever Fuse said, I think they’re rules about both babies and marriage and the inescapable ties between the two. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she stands up, “you’re obviously both exhausted and the house will be empty anyway. I have to go talk to Arvid about something.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I want to ask what she needs from Arvid, but I’m too numb from dealing with today on so little sleep to really care. That and Fuse is sipping at her tea and looking as tired as I feel and the pull of my bed is getting impossible to ignore. 

When I shut my bedroom door behind us, I sigh and lean back against it, rubbing my temple and watching Fuse sit down on my bed, staring into her mug. 

“That went ok.” I kick off my boots and pull my shirt off, eyeing the soft, clean blankets at the foot of my bed. “I half thought as soon as I saw my mom I’d just blurt it out. Or as soon as she saw me she’d read my mind.” 

“That’s impossible.” She sets the mug down on the table by my bed and curls her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes catch on my bruise and she frowns, “Smitelout has pretty good aim.” 

“Yes, she does,” I crawl around her, flopping onto the pillow as soon as it’s within reach and tugging at the back of Fuse’s leather vest. “I’m glad she doesn’t use it on me very often.” 

My bed tries to eat me whole and I’m inclined to let it. It makes my hip throb worse and relax entirely all at once and my back muscles go slack as I adjust the pillow under my head. Bed. Yes. I’m going to try my thor-damned hardest to be here for two weeks this time. 

“She shouldn’t ever use it on you,” Fuse scowls at her hands and I sigh. 

“Don’t go starting your next list of targets, alright?” It’s not the right thing to say and her shoulders tense up. “Not–I’m sorry. Have whatever list of targets you want, just tell me about it next time. Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” she gives me that much, unclasping her vest with slow, meticulous fingers and hanging it on one of the empty hooks for my axe. My axe is…somewhere. I think it’s with the pile of my stuff in the barn outside. Bang was guarding it with his snores when I left to take a bath and I’m sure he hasn’t moved, lucky dragon. Everything is still the same as far as he knows. 

Hel, as far as I know everything still seems the same. Fuse lays down facing me and presses her forehead into my shoulder like she’s hiding from the sunlight and her stomach is flat against mine, her waist thin as always under my elbow. 

“For the record, I love how you…take initiative.” I try to say ‘obliterate your perceived enemies’ more gently and hope she hears what I mean. “But you don’t need to do it on my account.” 

“It was on my own account.” Her lips brush across my chest as she talks and her quiet groan reverberates in my ribs. 

“What’s up?” 

“Still nauseous.” 

“Did the tea help at all?” I can’t quite open my eyes to catch her answer, because the bed is winning and quickly, and Fuse’s warmth pressed against me is on its side. 

“Maybe,” she huffs an obvious lie, only said to make me stop asking. Usually I’d push, but I’m all out of push right now. 

Her breathing goes quiet and even and I’m sure she’s asleep until her hand snakes its way between us and rests on the bruise on my chest. 

“M’fine,” I assure her, or at least I try to, I’m not sure I understand my own half-asleep mumble. 

“This time,” she sighs. 

“We can talk later,” I pull her closer, slinging one of my legs over hers so that she can’t get away while I’m asleep. “Let’s just get some sleep.” 

I take her silence as agreement or more likely, I drift off before I hear her answer.


	7. Chapter 6.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arvid POV

Arvid is helping Aurelia record the volunteer rotation for the construction crew due to leave later today when there’s a knock at the door. Aurelia uses his shoulder to stand up and go answer it, her chiefly posture fading when she greets whoever it is. 

“Oh, hey, what’s up?” 

“Is Arvid here?” Arvid’s mom asks and he leans over to look around Aurelia at her. 

“Your mom’s here to gossip, babe,” Aurelia leaves the door open and gestures at it. “I’ll finish this up.” 

“I’m not here to gossip,” Mom insists, shrugging one shoulder in a bad attempt at the chief acting casual, “I just need to talk to him about something.” 

“That means gossip,” Aurelia kisses his cheek and sits back down, “go, tell me all about it later.” 

“It’s not gossip,” Arvid saves his eyeroll until he’s outside with his mom, the door shut securely behind him. It’s not gossip. Someone has to keep an eye on the people around here while Eret and Aurelia are obsessed with timelines and getting things done. It’s an important role in helping the chief out. “What’s up?” 

“You went on that scouting trip with Fuse last week,” his mom flashes him a knowing look, like she’s not going to ask the question because that means engaging in official speculation about something that isn’t officially any of their business. 

“I did,” he points towards the trail along the coast, “I have to check in on the surveillance point, I could use a hand.” 

“Sure.” 

Arvid waits until they’re securely in the woods before looking around for anyone that might be listening. There’s a purple terror perched in a tree watching them, but it’s not alert to anything, and Arvid tries to figure out how little he can say for maximum effect. It’s just a guess, he doesn’t know anything concrete, but if there’s a chance of it being real, they need to be ready. 

A startled Eret is like an animal just let out of a cage. Sometimes he attacks, sometimes he runs, and sometimes he darts back into the cage like it’s his den now. 

“So. How did it go with Fuse last week?” His mom pushes a little faster than she usually does, examining the wall of the squat surveillance hut and plucking some moss from the edge of the roof. 

“It was fine, we didn’t find much. Eret’s connection is still there selling, we aren’t sure if he knows trappers are dropping his name.” Arvid leans on the wall, arms crossed. “Fuse was tired. A little off, maybe.” 

“Throwing up?” His mom raises an eyebrow, “kind of green?” 

“Throwing up constantly,” a little thrill of relief at the fact he can tell someone who might believe him rushes through him, “we took two breaks on a four hour flight.” 

“It could be a stomach infection, or something.” 

“Of course,” Arvid debates for a second, biting his lip. This isn’t the best thing to tell his mother but it’s what really tipped his guess over the edge. This and the delayed wide eyed expression that bloomed on Fuse’s face when he suggested that she might be afflicted by some sort of sickness that would affect her in a monthly way. “I don’t know why that would make her vest tighter though.” He half gestures at his chest and his mom frowns at him. 

“Why are you noticing that?” 

“I don’t know, Mom, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my wife really doesn’t want to be pregnant so she freaks out two days a month listing off all the symptoms that she thinks she has, only to be relieved a couple days later.” 

His mom smiles, “you’re so grown up.” 

“Mom.” 

“No, really, when did that happen? I was worried, you used to be so–”

“Can we talk about Fuse, please?” He doesn’t know why he was ever jealous of the attention that Eret gets. It looks good from a distance but up close it’s a bit smothering. Nice, but smothering. 

Ok, he’ll take it sometimes, in small doses. 

“She and Eret came over today after he got back.” 

“Yeah?” 

“She looked about as tired as he did, which, you know how he gets on a mission.” 

“I’d put him to sleep with a chokehold if I didn’t think I’d wake up with black powder in my boots,” he laughs and his mom frowns. 

“I don’t think I got how protective she is of him until…all this. I always kind of thought–I don’t know, I grew up with her dad and he never put much thought into the chaos that he caused.” His mom looks at him like she’s not quite sure if he’s actually grown up enough to hear what she’s about to say and he waves her on. 

“Yeah?” 

A few years ago, it was hard. Being in this family was hard, loving the people that he loves was hard. It seems like that’s still closer to everyone else than it is to him, though. He can look at it with a sort of distance, like it happened to someone else. And he guesses it really did, he was just a bystander to most of it. 

“I don’t know, I just keep thinking if I’d been that…pragmatic with engagements at her age, things might have been different.” She turns apologetic before he can even react, “not that I’d change anything, you–”

“I get it, Mom.” Arvid shrugs, “I think we all get that it was complicated. Hel, look who I’m married to.” 

“I thought the whole Fuse fascination was rebellion, or something.” She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand, “and I always kind of guessed she didn’t care about him the same way. Especially after he went and got so much glory–”

“Right. Glory,” Arvid pats his arm, “do you think he got that big all by himself? I know I’m not the one causing marital fights at foreign docks anymore.” 

“And I can’t tell you how glad I am about that,” she sighs, “I still can’t believe you and Ingrid both beat Eret to settling down.” 

“Seems like the Gods are about to force his hand though,” Arvid pauses before moving forward with the part that Aurelia didn’t even let him get to. “If she is pregnant, he’s going to have to marry her to avoid another heir fiasco. I don’t think the Thorstons would sign over kids as easily as the Hoffersons did.” 

“Normally I’d be offended by someone calling Hoffersons reasonable, but in this case, you’ve got a point.” His mom starts pacing, “who else knows?” 

“Aurelia, theoretically. She didn’t believe me though, she said Eret’s been gone too much and she would have known by now.” 

“Well, she can keep a secret, so I’m not too worried even if she starts believing you.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m thinking…the quieter we keep this, the better. She can’t be very far along. I thinks she just told Eret, from the way he was just fussing over her, like she couldn’t get upstairs by herself. Maybe he’ll come to his senses on his own and make it easy on us, but if not, I don’t want him feeling cornered and acting stupid.” 

“What’s he going to do? Run off and jump into a volcano?” Arvid sees his Mom’s line of thinking and settles into the idea of lying, copiously, for months. It’s not his favorite thing to do but he’s gotten better at it. People haven’t forgotten their assumption that he’s stupid so they tend to take things he says at face value, especially if he’s careful about what he says to who and when. 

Someone has to keep the people unified while Haddocks shove them forward. 

“Exactly. And as long as we keep him close and know where he is well…worst case scenario, I march Hiccup in there with the midwife and sign the contract between contractions.” She sighs, “which I don’t want to do. I want him to come to the right conclusion on his own here, but…”

“I don’t get his problem,” Arvid looks out at the calm ocean, “he’s seen Aurelia and I be married for years and nothing changed between us. Well, things changed, but they got better. And Ingrid’s never been happier than she is since she moved in with Smitelout.” 

“Yeah, and your dad seems pretty happy out on that boat.” She purses her lips. 

There are some things Arvid knows not to touch, and on that scale, commenting on the hard-edged, warm way that his mom looks at his dad is right next to mysterious powder that makes Fuse flinch when sunlight hits it. 

“How much time do they have to figure this out?” He changes the subject back to one he can speculate on. 

“A few months, max. I’ll start looking into the terms of the marriage contract that Hiccup already has written up. Tuffnut signed it years ago, it’s really just missing the ceremony and Eret and Fuse’s signatures, so it’s easiest if we keep prices and gifts the same. It might say something about a house in there, Hiccup has teased it enough.” 

“You’re the chief’s wife and I’m the future vice-chief’s husband, I bet we can get permission to build a house somewhere.” 

She raises an eyebrow in question, demanding explanation with none of the threat as when he was little. He likes his mom now more that he’s an adult and she treats him like one, they get along better this way. Plus, it really doesn’t hurt that they’re both constantly roped into dealing with Haddocks that don’t like to felt dealt with even when they need it. 

“We need a better place to talk than a dilapidated old watch shed.” 

“True,” she nods, “I’ll talk to Hiccup about that too.” 

“Are you going to tell him?” Arvid’s expression makes it clear what he thinks about that idea. As rash as Fuse’s actions were, the chief crossed a line by feigning a betrothal to push Eret into marriage. It’s not Arvid’s place to be mad, so he hasn’t brought it up, but giving him a more solid reason to push wouldn’t do anything to pull Eret back in the right direction. 

“No. I mean, not yet. Not until I’m sure he’s not going to do something stupid, like try and betrothe the boy who’s scared of marriage to someone he doesn’t know to try and force his hand.” She looks pained and pauses before continuing, again, like she’s still mindful of her audience. “I just keep thinking, what if Fuse had reacted differently? What if Eret had–he could have ended up married to the wrong person and I wouldn’t have known how to help him.” 

“Well, Fuse did.” 

“And now we’re going to help her,” his mom crosses her arms, “and Eret, and Berk. And that kid, if she really is pregnant, I’m not going to let my grandchild go through what Eret did. And what you did.” 

“I’m fine, Mom.” Arvid assures her, a little pleased to be smothered under more of that worry. “We all came out of it ok, I think.” 

“Better than ok,” she sighs at him, “I don’t tell you enough, but I’m really proud of you.” 

“You’re just saying that because I’m going to help Eret and Fuse keep this secret while helping you build a secret house and figure out the rest of that contract without the chief knowing.” 

“That’s not the only reason I’m saying it.”


	8. Chapter 7

When I wake up, Fuse is gone. I panic, all the emotional rush I was too tired to feel earlier coursing through my veins as I pat across the blankets and fall off of my bed onto the floor. 

“What was that?” Fuse’s voice carries up the stairs and she’s here and ok and I relax with a groan, rubbing my shoulder where it hit the wooden floorboards first. 

“Eret fell out of bed,” Stoick shouts downstairs as he appears in the doorway and I blink at his silhouette. Someone opened the door at some point. Probably the chief. That’s probably what woke Fuse up. 

She needs her sleep and the injustice of the chief taking that away because of some stupid rule makes me instantly, hotly angrier than I have been in a while. Because Gods, Fuse is pregnant. It’s my baby. She said she needed sleep and someone got in the way of that and I sit up, glaring in the general direction of the stairs. 

“Is he ok?” Fuse asks and Stoick shrugs. 

“Is he ever?” 

“Hilarious,” I stand up, stretching my neck and shouldering him out of the doorway when he doesn’t move in time. 

“Oh, you wanna go?” His fists hit my arm in a couple of featherweight punches that I ignore and he runs down ahead of me with a laugh, skidding into the chair beside Fuse and leaning his elbow on her shoulder. “Too slow.” 

“How long have you been up?” I kiss the top of Fuse’s head, batting Stoick’s arm away from her shoulder and glaring at him. It hits me that he’s going to be an uncle, an actually related uncle and I stack that onto the feelings I don’t have time to make sense of right now. 

His Stormcutter trills at me from its roost in front of the fireplace, cocking its owlish head like it’s daring me to touch him again. And I spent years thinking Toothless was entitled. 

“Not long.” She looks a little better, some of her usual color back in her cheeks. I feel like I’ve spent the last four years worried about everyone and everything and it all pales in comparison to the strange protective guilt I feel now. I did this to her. She’s pregnant and it’s mine and her nausea is just the first thing I can’t protect them from. 

“Do you need more tea?” Stoick asks, too chipper, like he always is around Fuse and what’s normally kind of funny is suddenly aggravating. 

“Sure,” she goes to hand her empty mug to him and I reach for it. 

“I’ll get it for you, really.” 

“She asked me,” Stoick snatches it, sticking his tongue out at me and darting over to the fire. I take his seat, scooting closer to her and putting my arm over her shoulders. 

“I’ll get you tea,” I insist as she leans her head against my chest with a sigh. 

“I wanted him to give you the chair,” she whispers and I snort, fiddling with the end of a tangled braid. 

“I want him to go away.” I pull her closer to me when Stoick sets the new cup of tea in front of her and lingers for a moment, like he’s expecting praise, or something. 

“Thanks,” Fuse picks up the mug, her elbow digging into my thigh as she leans on me harder. 

“Do you need something else?” I ask Stoick, shifting so that Fuse’s pointy elbow is gouging into a new and not yet painful part of my leg. 

“Dad caught you with your door shut,” he raises an eyebrow, pointedly scratching his chin where he insisted he found a hair last month. 

“Ok.” 

“It’s kind of funny how that’s only a rule for you,” he looks at Fuse, “it’s only a rule for him, you know–”

“No one thinks you need that rule,” Fuse cuts him off, “thanks for the tea.” 

It’s the kind of blunt dismissal only Fuse can pull off without sounding mean and I stifle my laugh in her hair, only looking up when the front door opens and the chief walks inside as Stoick slips out with his dragon, thank the Gods. The chief looks at me knowingly, like he also thinks I’m supposed to care that he caught Fuse and I sleeping behind a closed door. I don’t worry about him reading my mind the way I do Mom, but the secret still rises to the front of my mind. 

Fuse is pregnant. The chief is going to freak out. I’m still waiting to freak out. I almost want to tell him to watch him freak out. I bet his eyes are going to bug out of his head. 

“Good…mid-afternoon,” the chief finally seems to get that I don’t care that he caught me and Fuse sleeping, even if he doesn’t get that I have bigger things to care about. “How’s the rebuild going?” 

“More of a build at this point.” I shrug and Fuse sits up, leaning her elbows over the table and sniffing at her tea. I know it’s more polite but I miss her weight against me and I also don’t care about being polite to people who don’t let Fuse and I sleep without inviting Stoick’s assistance. “It’s going fine, Ingrid gained the trust of a couple locals so I think I can trust it not to fall apart for a couple of weeks.” 

Gods, how could I leave? 

That thought smacks me like a war hammer at exactly at the wrong time, while I’m trying to look normal and talk to the chief. Fuse already had to put this together while alone, she already had to figure out how to tell me. It hits me that she had something half scripted because she was nervous, like talking to me had become such a phenomenon she had to plan for it, and I want to tell someone else, anyone else to take things over. 

“That’s good news,” he grins, “I could use your help shoring Berk up. We had some spring flooding over on the East bay and dealing with it has been a pain.”

“It has,” Fuse agrees, sipping slowly from her mug, “I’ve been trying to help with a secondary dam but it’s slow.” 

“And while that’s taking both our time, everything else is stumbling along without much supervision.” The chief smiles at Fuse. They’ve made peace, I guess, and I’m glad, given the circumstances, especially because I’m remembering that I look like him when I smile and as much as I like to ignore it, he’s my actual father. 

And even though I’ve come to respect and even like him as a chief when he’s not trying to marry me off, I wouldn’t say I’ve largely benefitted from his attempts at parenting considering they involved trying to marry me off. 

There it is, the start of a freak out, at least now I know I’m not suddenly stable or anything like that. 

“Aurelia is doing her best,” Fuse says a little defensively, like she’s not as cheery with the chief as he seems to be with her, “but she’s been spending a lot of time trying to track down anything about those trappers by going through the last few months of communication.” 

“Yeah.” My voice cracks and Fuse frowns at me. 

Oh Gods, it’s already happening, Fuse is the one pregnant and she’s looking at me like she’s worried about me and I’m going to have to leave in a couple of weeks and if she marries me, it’s all about heirs. Or it would be if the chief ever actually handed over the title. Fuse has to know that, she thinks of everything, but I’m just stumbling through the concept now. I can’t breathe. I rub my chest with my knuckles, pushing hard enough that my bruise throbs and my lungs remember what they’re supposed to be doing. 

“Ouch, what happened there?” The chief asks, as if it matters, as if I’m not already making everything about me. 

“Smitelout,” Fuse frowns and I squeeze her shoulder. 

“No, it’s–I’m fine, chief. I’ll check in with Aurelia and get up to speed. And Fuse, don’t worry about helping him with the East Bay situation, I’m on it.” 

“I can help,” she insists and it makes her look more tired. I kiss her on the forehead and stand up. 

“You shouldn’t have to. I’m on it, ok?”

“Eret,” she huffs and eyebrows a straight, frustrated line as she stands up, “I said I’ve got it.” 

“Ok,” I back up, gesturing between her and the chief, “just let me know if you need help–”

“I will,” she looks at the bruise on my chest again and I wish I’d paused to put my shirt back on, it just feels like another way I’m drawing attention when I shouldn’t be. 

“We’ve got it,” the chief tries to comfort me with a grin I can see straight through. He’s assessing me like he’s been doing a lot lately and I can’t tell if he’s seeing something he doesn’t like or missing something he wishes he were seeing. I don’t know what else I could possibly do, but obviously, what I’m doing isn’t right or enough. 

“If you need anything–”

“I get that,” he cuts me off, “but I bet Fuse and I can handle it.” 

“I could handle it–”

“I know you could handle it, Eret,” the chief sighs, “and I know I messed up with the whole betrothal thing, but you can’t keep being everything to everyone all the time. Trust me, you just end up missing out and not on the things you want to miss out on.” 

Fuse blanches at the mention of a betrothal and I’m worried she’s going to throw up. I hate to say it, but the chief is right, I’m already missing out. Fuse had to learn she was pregnant without me here, she had to talk to Rolf. I haven’t even apologized for that yet. I can’t imagine the dual nausea of talking to Rolf while pregnant. 

The chief is staring at me like he expects an answer and Fuse looks worried, because I’m still making her worry about me instead of the other way around. 

“Ok.” 

“Ok, you’ll relax a bit?” 

I barely bite back asking the chief why he hasn’t crowned me yet and if his reason really is that I’m doing too much and not relaxing enough. 

“I’ll go talk to Aurelia,” I get out instead, turning to focus on Fuse because the idea of walking away from her right now is physically painful. “If–I mean, you’re good, right?” 

“She’s fine,” the chief rolls his eyes, “you’re going to worry yourself gray at this rate.” 

“Like father like son,” I mumble and the chief’s eyes light up, happy at the comparison. We’ll see about that, chief, considering Fuse is already frustrated with me and it’s still day one. 

00000

“Can I have this wood?” Arvid asks me at the woodpile, one morning when I’ve been home about a week. He has Wingspark loaded up with an unusually large stack of long, straight logs, their bark removed.

“Why?” 

“Because I need it for a project,” he shrugs, “Mom wants to build a house.” 

“Again, why?” 

He shrugs again, staring at me unblinking but bored and I look at the woodpile behind me, full despite how much he took. I guess our loggers were a little overzealous in replacing what we took to rebuild Elva’s island with. 

“Fuck it, sure, just write it down, alright?” 

“No problem,” he clicks at Wingspark and she lumbers along after him, pausing to sniff at my hand for a treat. I don’t have anything but I scratch behind her horn, looking thoughtfully after Arvid for a second. 

I expected lying to be harder. I expected everyone to be asking after us all the time. But in reality, aside from the quiet and increasing desperation I have to check on Fuse every morning, nothing outwardly looks much different. 

Yet. 

I want to ask when that’s going to change, because in a lot of ways that’s a deadline for figuring out how to tell people or what to tell people, but I don’t think it’s necessarily something Fuse wants to talk about. She doesn’t seem to want to talk at all, actually, I think it would get in the way of her nap-on-me time, which has really seemed to take priority. Between that and my convince-Fuse-to-eat-something routine, we haven’t had time or privacy for anything else.

And I know I shouldn’t push her, because she’s the one dealing with more of this than I am, and I know she wants to keep it a secret just like I do, but not talking about it is killing me. And if I were going to tell someone, which I’m not, because Fuse doesn’t want to, Arvid would be very close to the top of that theoretical list, if not at the very top of it. It’s a tie between him and Aurelia, honestly. Maybe my dad is up there too, although I think he’s bound by some parental contract to tell Mom, and she’s the bottom of the list. 

Only because of the way she’d look at me though, all disappointed and reserved, like she’s waiting for me to finish acting before she decides how pissed she is. I wish I had her advice right now. I wish I had anyone’s advice. 

“Why does Mom want to build a house?” I call after Arvid, fighting every urge to run and catch up with him while my to do list for the day weighs me down where I stand. 

“Ask her,” he shrugs again, “I just said I’d help, I’ve been getting enough practice at it.”

I have a sneaking suspicion that he knows more than he’s letting on, which honestly became a given ever since he married Aurelia and spends all his time absorbing the information she radiates like a Nightmare putting out warmth, but I don’t have time or energy to investigate it right now. Especially now that he reminded me of all the houses being built on Elva’s island and the fact that I’m supposed to go back there in a week. 

It’s a thought I manage to shake until I’m home and surrounded by papers on my bed and Fuse appears in the doorway. 

“Hey!” I stack all of letters riddled with Aurelia’s notes and shove them to the side, giving Fuse a place to sit. “What’s up? 

“Stoick let me in,” she explains, pointing down the stairs with her thumb and lingering in the doorway, “are you busy?” 

“Not that busy,” I pat my bed, “how are you?” 

She deliberates for a second before shutting the door behind her and sitting down beside me, “fine.” 

“Fine?” I laugh, my hand rubbing her lower back through the smooth leather of her vest, “not nauseous? That’s great!”

“I was nauseous earlier,” she puts down the letter, “but it passed and now I feel alright. How about you?” 

“I’m not nauseous–wait, that’s not what you’re asking.” I wipe my forehead, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m–mmph.” 

She cuts me off with a kiss, lingering like she hasn’t been, her hand cupping my jaw and sliding down to my shoulder. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the closed door compete with the idea of Stoick being downstairs and when Fuse’s tongue slips briefly into my mouth, the door starts winning. Fuse knows me too well because she pulls back with a tired smile and glances at my stack of papers. 

“You sound preoccupied,” she gestures at my pillow, “I was just hoping to get a nap, I don’t mind if you’re working.” 

“Maybe I mind if I’m working.” I raise an eyebrow at her and Stoick yells something downstairs, taking some hard earned ground back from the closed door in their eternal argument. The chief’s muffled voice answers him and I hear Mom laugh and sigh. Nevermind. Plus, Fuse really does look tired, so I pick up the top letter in the stack. “Go ahead and sleep, I’ll do my best to keep the door shut.” 

“It’s not your fault if you can’t.” She lays down behind me, fidgeting to get comfortable, and I jump at her cold fingertips against my back, under my shirt. She traces the edge of the scar on my hip and over the bumps of my lower spine and her breathing slows like she’s drifting off. “I never answered your question the other day.” 

“Which question?” I trace over a suspicious line of runes, an offer to deliver something to an island I’ve never heard of before but phrased in a way that makes it sound close. 

“You asked how I felt about the concept of us having a baby.” 

“Yeah?” I perk up, reminding myself that just because it took Fuse longer to get here than me doesn’t mean it’s going to be bad. “I mean, you answered, you said you felt nauseous, which is fair–”

“I’m happy about it too.” She yawns, cuddling closer, her knees curling around my hip. “Also I’m nervous and really want to stop throwing up soon, but I’m kind of excited.” 

I grin, looking back over my shoulder at her. Her eyes are shut and her hair is draped across most of my pillow, tangled and smudged in something blue and shiny. It feels less selfish to be happy now that I know she is too and that excited voice in the back of my head reminds me of the prospect of having two of her around. I can hope, at least, I can’t imagine that even Fuse would want another Eret. There’s a surplus already. 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too,” she mumbles, snuggling closer and pressing her face into the pillow to block the light. 

Fuse’s quiet snores make it easier to focus on reading and I get through the short stack of letters that Aurelia thinks are important more quickly than I expect to. It’s not great news. It sounds like whatever trappers that are left on Elva’s island are looking for allies or markets to sell in, I’m not really sure which. That means I need to get back out there and see what might have turned up in a week without much management. They’ve had a chance to get bold, maybe they’re willing to do or say something else stupid. 

A particularly loud snore puffs against my back and I look back at Fuse. She looks pretty when she sleeps. Well, she always looks pretty, but it’s daintier when her face is relaxed and her usual aura of chaos and determination is turned down a notch. 

She got in the habit of sleeping by me when we were off Berk a lot, dealing with trappers. She’s never said it directly, but I think it’s a carryover from the whole volcano incident, because in the months after that she couldn’t sleep unless I would be there when she woke up. And she just told me she’s nervous about being pregnant and I’m about to leave to somewhere she can’t follow to deal with a dangerous situation that she doesn’t like. 

But I don’t know what else to do, I can’t just drop this situation on someone else, it has to be me. It’s important. It’s my big piece of proof that I can solve things peacefully and maybe the chief will finally see that I’m ready and–

“Dad told me to open your door,” Stoick flings the door open and it smacks against the wall. Fuse wakes up with a jolt, scrambling for my hand, and I don’t think before throwing the first thing in my reach at the grinning brat in the hallway. 

It happens to be my boot and it collides with his face with a satisfying thump. 

“Dad! Eret threw his shoe at me!” 

“Get out.” I stand up and grab the edge of my door with a white knuckled grip, “I mean it, move or this is going to slam into your face.” 

Stoick rolls his eyes and I flex my arm, making a show of just how fast I’m going to slam the door. I’m not actually, because I know full well that the chief would do something dramatic and irritating like take it off its hinges entirely, but it’s still fun to see Stoick scramble backwards, eyes wide. 

“Fine, but…” He looks around for a way to retaliate, “I’m going to steal your shoe. Finders keepers.” He picks up my boot and waves it at me. 

“Whatever,” I shut the door and lean my forehead against it as he runs downstairs. “Maybe I should come work at your house for a while.” 

“I wish.” Fuse is adorable when she’s grumpy and half awake, frowning with her arms crossed. “I’ve got some stuff to get done, I’m almost out of mining charges.” She leans into my chest when I turn to face her, requesting a hug and pressing her sleep warm face into my shirt. “I just couldn’t focus earlier, I should be good now.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” she backs away and reluctantly turns the doorknob, “I’ve got to get this done if you’re going to get any iron out of that other island anytime soon.” 

“You don’t have to help with that.” 

“I know I don’t,” she scowls and I can tell she’s frustrated mostly with the situation but probably at least partially with me, “but if I do, you’ll be done sooner and we’ll have one less thing to worry about.” 

“True.” Maybe I’ll even be chief by then and I can just…decree something. I don’t even know what. 

“Ok,” she steels herself, leaning up to kiss me briefly before opening the door the rest of the way. “I’ll see you later.” 

“I’ll walk you out.” I follow her down the stairs and to the front door, glaring at Stoick on the way as he feeds his dragon a fish out of my boot. 

As soon as Fuse is gone, the chief clears his throat, looking up from fixing his saddle and raising one graying eyebrow at me. 

“You know, if you didn’t live here anymore…” 

“Right, because that’s easier than telling Stoick to stop being obnoxious.” 

“I hadn’t thought to compare the two,” the chief nods, thinking to himself, “but I think you’re right. Getting you married and out of the house is slightly easier than telling Stoick to be less obnoxious.”

I laugh at that and the chief looks equally tired and pleased with himself, glancing in Stoick’s direction like he’s surveying a threat. I wasn’t that bad at thirteen, there’s no way, I don’t think Mom would have let me live. 

“I am the stubborn sibling,” Stoick shrugs, “do you want your boot back?” He holds it out towards me, fish scales visible on the fur lining, and I wrinkle my nose. 

“I think I’m good.”


	9. Chapter 8

The chief isn’t getting to me. It didn’t suddenly resonate the morning after Stoick ran Fuse off for the second time that there’s some merit in being out of the house. If anything started getting to me, it’s Stoick, because nothing makes me feel more like a bratty kid than how easy it is to act like a bratty kid when he’s in my face. But it’s not marriage that I’m thinking of, the chief still isn’t getting that, it’s still not that easy. 

But it’s early morning before I’m supposed to go back to Elva’s island for a week and I haven’t seen Fuse in two days, and I’m not too proud to admit that Arvid and Aurelia are also getting to me when he stumbles out of their bedroom, bleary eyed, and distracting her from our planning with a kiss on her head. 

“You’re up before sunrise?” She gives him a quiet half smile, exhaling a sharp laugh through her nose when he grumbles. 

“Good morning.” 

“That’s what I said,” she teases, twirling her braid around her finger and tilting her chin up towards him. He raises an eyebrow in that way I’m pretty sure I’ve actually gone so far as to order him not to in front of me, because it’s disgusting, and I rap on the map between Aurelia and I on the table with my knuckle. 

“And good morning from me, both of your brother, who does not need to see that.” 

Arvid scoffs and scowls at me, but of course that’s too good to last, and he looks me up and down with a worried expression that’s looking more and more disconcertingly like dad’s. 

“Did you sleep? You look like—”

“Don’t say shit, please, some originality goes a long way.” I yawn into the back of my hand anyway and shake my head, blinking twice to focus bleary eyes on the map in front of me. Elva’s island isn’t far off of a major east-west current that’s strengthening with the influence of the thermal vent we cracked open years ago. 

“You slept enough for all three of us,” Aurelia pats his stomach with the back of her hand and leans back over the chart with me, tracing the line out for Arvid to see. “We’ve almost got this figured out. I think we underestimated the changes in currents down south, I started noticing that the dates on the letters we were intercepting didn’t make any sense. They were somehow making a four day journey in two, and unless they somehow figured out how to train the dragons they’re catching—”

“Which obviously they didn’t,” I roll my eyes at her. We spent a good couple of hours arguing through that point and as the sun bleeds an orange rim over the bottom of the windowpane, I’m more than a little bitter about it. 

I can sleep on the boat, sure, but that’s still time I could have spent with Fuse. She’s so insistent on getting a mining charge onto this shipment, the middle of the night would probably have been the only time I could pull her away. 

“Anyway, there’s some sort of fast circulating current here,” she taps on the parchment, “which we have to investigate for trapper traffic.” 

“We?” I scoff, leaning my chin on my hands and puffing at the unruly hair that escapes over my forehead. “Didn’t realize you were going to fly off for a week and hunt trappers down. Do you need to borrow Bang?” 

“No, I need to keep the island running while you go play diplomat carpenter,” she quips, purple circles under her eyes only focusing her green glare. 

Arvid kisses the top of her head again and even as I wrinkle my nose, I internally thank him for getting me out of her firing range. 

What’s unexpected though, is how unfair it feels that they just get to wake up under the same roof. 

I look around the main room of the house I grew up in, starting at Dad’s favorite chair in the corner. It looks the same, if a little worse for the wear, but the little table next to it is new and the stack of books never would have remained in tact while Arvid and I were growing up. Neither would the new shelves, built like fireworm hives to hold dozens if not hundreds of scrolls and maps and letters. Between them and Arvid’s half carved project in front of the fire, it hits me how much this place has become theirs. 

My room at the chief’s house is barely mine, given how little I’m in it. And the stupid open door rules don’t help. It hasn’t really felt comfortable since Ingrid moved, if I’m honest, not that I’m not happy for her and Smitelout and Finn. 

Right. Finn. Ingrid’s baby. Like the baby of ours that Fuse is going to have. Fuck. 

And I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or how generally miserable I am, but Arvid’s half finished project starts to look like a crib. 

It’s not, obviously, but it reminds me that you need a house to put a crib and a baby in. And that makes me think of what Fuse and my house might look like, my tired brain meandering away from the task at hand. I’m picturing the shelves in her room, the trinkets interspersed with bomb parts and crumpled drawings. The way that she organizes everything in her shed by color, even if two things of the same color do entirely different things. That’s how she singed off her eyebrow last Snoggletog, after I was trying to refill something for her. 

A whole house full of Fuse sounds great, as long as I don’t mess with anything. 

I stare at Arvid’s project and the half loaf of bread he baked, because Aurelia is helpless at the hearth, and his sword hanging polished next to the door. I don’t really know what I’d bring to a house full of Fuse, now that I think about it. It’s not like my axe would be there all that often. 

No, the chief isn’t getting to me, everything else is. 

I sigh and let my forehead fall against the table with a grunt. 

“Get off my map,” Aurelia gently tugs at my hair, fingers nicer than her tone. 

“If he’s asleep, leave him,” Arvid advises her and I groan, turning my head to the side and pressing my cheek to the cool parchment. 

“I’m not asleep.” I sigh, “I’m—I haven’t seen Fuse in days, alright?” My smushed cheek makes it impossible to sound as serious as I am, but maybe that’s a good thing, because I think if Aurelia was looking at me with that bemused, knowing expression I might just blurt everything out. 

“So you have to lay on my map?” 

After five years of being alternately teased and fought with and supported by Aurelia, I know when she’s actually worried about me, and that’s the last thing she needs to be doing right now when I’m about to leave again. I sit up, scrubbing my cheek with my palm. 

“No, I just—you guys are so lucky, you know that, right?” I gesture between them, “you get to live together and see each other every night and morning, even when we stay up all night working and—”

“Eret,” Aurelia sighs, “that’s because we’re married.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“And I’m assuming your answer to the basic advice isn’t going to be any different.” She sighs, leaning on Arvid’s shoulder and plucking at the raw lonely strings in my chest. 

Fuse is pregnant and that makes it so much worse. Especially because she’s been feeling good enough to work so much, I know I’m missing out on chances to talk and help and actually hang out together instead of just trade naps. 

“Little brother,” Arvid shakes his head at me and the endearment is half strong-armed reminder that he’s older than me and knows better, “being so stubborn about this is just wasting time.” 

“Time’s the thing I don’t have enough of to waste,” I snort. He can’t possibly know how valuable time is right now and I want to tell him, but it feels wrong without asking Fuse first. She’s the one dealing with this, after all. “But none of this changes the fact that the chief–”

“Enough with that,” Aurelia rolls her eyes like the argument ahead of us isn’t worth rehashing. She’s probably right, but I still don’t like being cut off, and I open my mouth to explain it all again,  
hoping to finally make it clear. 

“As I was saying, the fact is that the chief meddling around in relationships hasn’t gone so well for me and I’m not willing to risk this one.”

“You do realize that either way, you’re letting my dad make this decision for you?” She raises an eyebrow when my retort dies in my throat. “Married or not, it’s because he wants you to or you don’t want him to get what he wants.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want him to get what he wants. I just…I don’t want him to think he can push me.” Because when he pushes me, Hel, when any of my parents push me, it’s always because of something he did decades ago, and Fuse and I don’t have any part in any of that.

“So it’s all about my dad, it’s not about marriage at all?” Aurelia raises an eyebrow and I shrug. 

Maybe I had a different answer a few months ago, before I was gone so much without Fuse and definitely before baby naming ceremonies started breaking me out in a nervous, excited sweat. 

“I’m not…I mean, my parents don’t have the best track record.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” Arvid says with an entirely straight face, shaking his head with dry, false pity and I snort. 

Sometimes it startles me all over again how much Aurelia has rubbed off on him. Or maybe he was always smarter than he looked, he just had no reason to show it until Aurelia brought it out in him. I don’t think he was always this funny though, but I’m hesitant to blame it on Aurelia, at least out loud. She’s smug enough already. 

“I…I guess I just keep thinking that if I ever asked the chief now, he’d think I’m just doing it because he wants me to.” I look down at my hands on the table, scars on my knuckles pale in the light coming through the window. They’re a scattered patchwork, like a drunk spider’s web, and if I could draw the path of my thoughts I think it’d look similar. “And I’m not chief yet, and I know I can’t be chief by just doing whatever he says. And I’m worried that’s what he’s waiting for.” 

“You know,” Aurelia leans forward, fiddling with her hair like she does when she’s thinking hard about something and I perk up slightly at the thought that she might actually be addressing my problem instead of just repeating the same basic advice back at me like I’m too stupid to pick up  
on it. “My dad might marry everyone on Berk, but…”

She trails off, quirking an eyebrow at me, and it’s one of those times when she makes absolute perfect sense, the thought finishing one of mine that I didn’t even know I’d been working on. 

“What if we got married somewhere else?” I wait for the dread that might accompany the statement but all I can think of is a house covered in crumpled drawings with a crib in the corner and a bed Stoick has noaccess to. “Fly to the mainland or something?” 

Not to mention out loud that it might be easier given Fuse’s um…condition.

“If it’s really about my dad,” she shrugs. 

I look at Arvid, trying to gauge his opinion and he nods slowly. It’s not…it’s a new idea, at least, it’s a way I haven’t thought of before. Berk has a few families who’ve moved here from other islands and  
the chief never made them get remarried or anything. 

“You’d need her father’s approval for it to be accepted, probably,” Aurelia adds, “but I don’t see a reason he couldn’t still get the value of the mundr even if the contract was signed later or edited.” 

“Right, like the chief would to sign that after this stunt.” I roll my eyes and Arvid looks at Aurelia, surprised and I roll my eyes. It’s not worth it to comment on them leaving me out of their cute, silent, married conversation. I stand up, back aching from a night hunched over a table from a hard wooden chair. “I don’t think he’d take the word of some mainland chief anyway, it’d have to be someone we know…” I trail off, my two problems coming together in my head almost too well. 

“What are you thinking?” Aurelia asks and I point at her, mouth open for a second. 

“I’ve got to go talk to Fuse,” I walk backward towards the door, “see you at the dock by midday, can you load up the supplies, Arvid? Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

I don’t wait for an answer before jogging outside and rousing Bang from where he’s cuddled up with Wingspark in the barn. It’s almost like I’ve been having to spend a lot of time with the chief of another tribe who is still making her own laws. And if Elva were the one to physically sign something saying Fuse and I are married, how could Fuse still be jealous? Or territorial, whatever. It’s perfect. And she could come with me and help and it would be better. 

It’s an idea, at least, it feels like forever since I’ve had one of those. 

I wonder if Fuse will be awake yet, but she usually doesn’t mind me knocking at her window. As it turns out, I catch her loading Hotgut up outside her shed with a few large, clay shells that I recognize as some kind of mining charge. Her face lights up when I land and I’m glad to see her looking less pale than she has been. 

“I was just going to deliver these to you.” She looks different, somehow, aside from the healthy flush in her cheeks. The braid in her hair is still mostly neat, like she put it in recently, but that’s not  
what’s sticking out to me. 

“Glad you didn’t, I was at Arvid and Aurelia’s,” I look her up and down again and frown when I put it together. “Your vest.” 

She’s wearing her old vest, which she hasn’t since I made her the new one, and it’s more ragged than I remember, the half empty pockets sagging unevenly under the weight in them, the shoulders patched with almost burlap looking canvas, and the hem frayed where it rests halfway down her thighs. 

“My vest?” She looks down at herself and then back at me, “what about it?” 

“You’re wearing your old vest,” I swing off of Bang and step up to her, tugging at the loose seam across her shoulder. “Is something wrong with the new one?” 

“Oh,” she shakes her head, “no, it’s fine,” the flush on her cheeks concentrates even as her face stays carefully expressionless, like she’s trying to hide something. I love what a bad liar she is and the careful  
optimism in her eyes after she traces my expression. One corner of her mouth quirks upwards like she thinks she’s gotten away with it. 

I kiss her nose and press my forehead against hers, hands on her shoulders. 

“What’s wrong with your other vest? Smitelout can fix it while I’m gone.” 

“Nothing is wrong with it,” she bites her lip, crooked tooth cutely peeking out. “It still fits, in case I have to set anything off.” 

“What do you mean it still fits?” I step back, hands sliding down her arms and pausing at her elbows. 

She exhales, determined, teeth sliding off of her lip and leaving slight indents behind and worrying me. It’s hard enough to see her stressed most of the time, but it’s even worse now, knowing what she’s dealing with and that I’m leaving and I can’t shake the deep and desperate need to come  
back to something that’s ours. 

“It still buckles,” she clarifies, a flat attempt at a sarcastic smile curling her lips, “for now.” 

I frown and cock my head at her, feeling stupid the instant that I realize what she’s talking about. 

“Oh, you mean?” I look down at the sagging, patched pockets lining the front of her vest and completely eclipsing the line of her stomach. I glance back up at her before reaching down, slipping my hand through the loosely spaced buttons of the old vest and resting it against her stomach. 

I wouldn’t say it’s bigger, it’s not anything like the huge, round domes I’ve seen around the village, but there’s a foreign firmness to it. She doesn’t stop me from opening the bottom two buttons of her vest and sliding my other hand underneath it. Her waist is thicker in a solid, noticeable way, the point of her hipbone less obvious under the wool of her shirt. I swallow hard and look back up at her. 

“It still buckles, if I need to set anything off,” she messes with her braid and the first telltale lock of hair frees itself, falling against her cheek. 

“That’s…” I look down at my hands before sliding them to her lower back and pulling her into a hug. Her stomach is distractingly hot against mine and I don’t know if it’s actually warmer than usual or it’s just how important it is in my head right now. “Oh my gods,” I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the rare, pure Fuse smell before it mixes with sulphur and charcoal. 

Well, rare to me, because I hardly ever see her first thing. 

That makes me think of the space in my head again with a crib and vests hanging by the door with my axe. 

“I can finally see it,” she laughs thinly, her hands linking together behind me. The unspoken ‘and so can everyone else’ is as loud as her words. 

“Not in this vest,” I pull back from the hug, unbuttoning her vest the rest of the way and sliding my hands up and down her waist, feeling the new dimensions with something between amazement and guilt. I didn’t notice it the last time I saw her and it’s only been two days. That means I both wasn’t paying enough attention to her and this moves so fast I’ll be missing so much when I leave for a whole week. I have to figure out how she can come with me, I have to talk her into this. 

I think I might have caught her nausea. Does that happen? 

“It’s bigger than I remembered,” she inclines her head slightly, “we’ve got some time.” 

Arvid’s comment about wasting time runs through my head again and I swallow hard. 

“Not that much time.” I clear my throat and look down at her, “so I was just at Arvid and Aurelia’s place, like I said.” 

The change in subject startles her and she frowns, unclasping her arms from behind me so that she can reach up and wrap them around my neck. That makes her stomach more obvious and I hate that it changed so much without me noticing and if there’s anything that makes me brave enough to ask  
hard questions, it’s a splash of self loathing and a swig of guilt. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” I almost hope she’ll say no or that she’s busy or something. 

“Sure.” 

“It’s been really hard not seeing you the past couple of days and now,” I look down between us and even though I can’t see her stomach from this angle as it’s still mostly flat, she seems to understand what I’m talking about and nods, “it’s even harder not to be ridiculously jealous that they get to wake up together every day and we can’t hang out in a room together without Stoick or a chicken interrupting us.” 

“When you get back we could go somewhere,” she suggests, eternally practical, “I know Aurelia’s been getting letters from the Western tribes but I’m sure it would be better if we went and investigated ourselves.” That’s as close to verbal innuendo as Fuse gets and I don’t quite pick up on it until she presses herself to me a little more purposefully, eyes darting to my lips as her hand slides under the back of my shirt. 

My body helpfully reminds me that it’s been a while, what with barely being home and Fuse being nauseous and utter lack of privacy, and I shift slightly away from her to focus on what I’m trying to say. Especially because there’s another perk of a bed Stoick can’t access. 

“That sounds good,” I nod, “really good, but um, I’m thinking longer term here. As much as I love your shed, I don’t think it’s got room for both of us to live with a baby.” 

She deflates slightly, more disappointed that I didn’t suggest immediate privacy than uninterested in what I’m saying. I kiss her on the cheek before stepping back, hoping that a little distance will help me get this out. My eyes fall to the barely visible curve of her stomach as she redoes the buttons on her vest and I start pacing, wringing my hands together behind my back. 

“So, this might sound crazy or it might not even work, I’ve never heard of anyone else doing it but Aurelia and I were just talking about the fact that the chief’s involvement is the main reason I haven’t wanted to get married,” I glance at her, searching for the impact of the word. She’s waiting for me to finish, shoulders still but stiff, like she’s nervous but flammable. That only makes my nerves  
worse, because her stomach is so close to bulging pockets and I’ll make her a new vest as soon as I’m back. “And that’s the whole thing, I guess, there’s a house in the marriage contract that the chief already figured out with your dad.” 

I pause, turning to face her and struggling for how to say this. 

If I say it wrong, it sounds a lot like a proposal, doesn’t it? 

Is it? 

I don’t think so, not really, it’s more of a…trick. It’s a way to get a house and a place for our baby. No tradition, no feast, no ritual where the chief gets to be smug, just vows and rings and a contract upon our return. Hel, if Elva won’t do it, maybe we could go find some Christians, they’ll marry anyone. Even if the chief didn’t buy into it, it would still be official without him at some level.

And this is really just trying to get Fuse’s opinion, it’s not a final decision or anything, I’m just bringing it up. 

“I don’t get where you’re going with this,” Fuse frowns at me, crossing her arms and glancing up at her house. The shutters are all still closed, but now I can’t shake the feeling of an audience, most likely her  
dad peering through the grooves in the fire proofed wood. 

I step closer and grab her hand in both of mine, swallowing hard. It’s not a proposal. It’s a suggestion.

“The chief marries everyone on Berk,” I start, “so what if we, I don’t know, went and got, you know, married–or whatever, it wouldn’t have the–no feast.” I clear my throat and look up at her. 

She’s more confused than anything, mouth pursed like she’s trying to make sense of me even as her shoulders remain perfectly rigid. I want to ask her to take off the vest, but not as much as I want her to say something. Anything. 

“You’re asking me to go somewhere else and marry you?” Her voice is flat and undecided. She’s  
holding off until she understands me and the idea of clarifying the request is more stressful than it should be. 

“Kind of?” I wince at my own question. “Or I mean, yes, but in a less direct way because I can’t handle being away from you so much, especially while so much is happening with, you know, you being pregnant and–”

“Nothing is happening,” she shakes her head, “my vest is just a little tight. We have time.” 

“Not that much time,” I frown, my stomach feeling heavy and knotted like a pot of writhing eels, “by the way, how much time? I know…nothing about this.” 

“Six months, maybe seven,” she starts to shrug but stops herself, glancing up at her house again. The top pocket of her vest gives off a wisp of strong, metallic scent and she adjusts it with the hand I’m not holding before looking back at me. 

“Until you get,” I look at her stomach, “you know, until this vest won’t close?” 

“No,” she meets my eyes with an understated, defiant sort of calm, “until the baby is born.” 

“Oh.” 

That appears to be my stock response for news that both thrills and terrifies me. 

Fuse smiles sympathetically, taking her hand from mine and patting my shoulder. 

“See? Plenty of time to figure this out.” 

“I thought I figured it out,” my voice comes out flat, “we go and get married somewhere else.” 

“Who would marry us without a contract in hand and my dad there?” There’s a rare, sharp edge of sarcasm in the question and my stomach churns again, heart pounding against my ribs in a way that really makes me think I caught her nausea. 

“Honestly, I was thinking Elva could do it.” I regret the words as soon as I say them because Fuse’s face freezes harder than the granite she routinely vaporizes. “Don’t–I mean, it just makes sense. She knows me, she knows about you, she doesn’t have any laws on the books yet about how marriages have to be and then you could come with me and–ok, tell me what you’re thinking please because your  
face is saying ‘finish what you started’.” 

She shrugs a shoulder, almost imperceptibly, her head inclining towards it as the grim line of her mouth doesn’t change. 

“Ok, I shouldn’t have suggested that.” 

She nods. I can practically see the self-restraint holding her hand still against her side. 

“Help me out here then,” I sigh, leaning against the wall of her shed. I remember, suddenly, how nervous Arvid was when he asked about marrying Aurelia. 

I wonder how it would have felt if she’d said no. 

“Do you think I’d make a good chief’s wife?” Fuse asks in a clear, direct voice, like she’s been thinking about it this whole conversation. It’s my turn to be startled by a change in subject and I open my mouth a couple of times before an unedited reply falls out. 

“Does it matter? I’m not chief.” I laugh miserably. She stares at me like it’s not a wrong answer, but not the one she wanted.

“You will be.” 

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” I shake my head, “but that’s not what we’re talking about. Why are you asking me if you’d be a good chief’s wife?” 

“I don’t think I would be,” she swallows hard, “I wanted your opinion.” 

“Oh.” 

I really have to work on that.

Fuse is looking at me with a nearly self-conscious vulnerability that I haven’t seen since those months I was barely healed and she’d decided she had to protect me by not blowing anything up. She mistakes my silence for agreement and her lower lip quivers in a way I’ve never seen.

“Right,” she croaks, clearing her throat and blinking back what look like tears and I panic, pulling her into a tight hug.

“No, no, I was just surprised by the question.” I kiss the side of her head and lean back just enough to look at her face. It’s composed again, but her eyes are red, and I rub her lower back through the old, disgustingly crispy fabric of her vest.

I’ve seen Fuse cry all of three times in the last four years. One I barely remember, I was so out of it and she’d thought I’d died. The second was when she confessed that she thought she’d blown me up, so it’s hardly even a second, it’s part of the same confusion. The third was when her house burned, and she thought it was her fault Berk got attacked. 

Now she’s crying over thinking she won’t be a good chief’s wife? As little sense as it makes to me, I know it’s a big deal.

“You’re most honest when you’re surprised.” Her lip quivers again. I resume hugging her, resting my cheek against her temple and squeezing probably a little too tight.

“No, no, I’m not. I’m dumbest when I’m surprised,” I laugh, relieved, when she rests her forehead on my shoulder and relaxes slightly. Good. She believes me. “You’re great at everything, how could you be bad at being the chief’s wife? No, that’s not what I mean, not the chief, just chief in general. Hopefully my wife when I’m chief…”

I trail off. That’s the first time I’ve ever said that. My wife.

The heavy, almost cloying emotion is dampened immediately by ‘when I’m chief’.

Great, another thing waiting on me being chief. Fuse has been worried about being chief’s wife, not about marrying me. Maybe if Chief Eret had suggested this it would have gone differently. She expects me to be chief just the way I used to, before it started feeling further and further away. 

Chief’s wife.

My wife.

It’s the first time I’ve separated the two, maybe because I didn’t think the first really existed. I grew up with the chief unmarried and busy, from the time I first got into enough trouble to earn the village’s notice by burning down the forge. I…the only chief’s wife I’ve ever known is my mom.

“Planning feasts and sitting on the council and managing…” Fuse groans and her pocket gives off some green smoke.

“Really quick, can you take this off?” I tug at her vest and she shakes her head. “It’s smoking.”

She shakes her head again.

I sigh, rubbing her back until I feel her breathing slow. I’ve got the slow building, ominous feeling that Fuse is smothering some inevitable explosion and I wonder if it’s the kind that would go away or if it’ll just be compressed into something more dangerous. Who am I kidding? It’s Fuse, of course it’ll go off eventually. 

“Hey, so…you’ve got yourself nervous about sitting on the council?” I start, “that wasn’t, I mean, usually the chief’s wife doesn’t sit on the council, it was just a weird position with the Hofferson seat being empty for a few decades and the chief wanting my mom’s opinions on things. It’s not a requirement.” 

“And you don’t want my opinion,” she nods into my shoulder, exhaling like a sliver of truth just completed the puzzle she’s been putting together in her mind. Worse than that, she relaxes, like that’s good news. 

“No, that’s not–of course I want your opinion.” 

“But you’re not chief yet,” she shrugs out of my arms, wiping her eye with the back of her hand and leaving a faintly shimmering streak of black through her eyebrow. “You won’t want it then.” 

“What?” I reach for her but she takes another step back, hugging herself around the middle and setting her chin in an unusually brittle line. 

“When you’re chief, you aren’t going to want my advice–”

“Of course I am!” I shove my hands in my pockets, forcing myself to give her the couple feet of painful space between us. “Fuse, I will always want your advice, I was just trying to say if you don’t want to go to council meetings, you don’t have to. And planning feasts? That’s–don’t worry about that, my mom does that.” 

“I know.” She grinds her teeth, eyes flashing like flint. 

I look back on what I said, trying to figure out where I went wrong. 

“I’m–I guess I’m just trying to say that you shouldn’t worry about that stuff, especially not when you’ve got bigger things going on.” I force a casual laugh, trying to break the tension, “plus, it’s not like I could get my mom to stop if I tried, she’s got that chief’s wife stuff covered, really.” 

Fuse stares at me for another minute and sighs, opening her arms slowly and asking not very enthusiastically for a hug. I frown at her, staying right where I am. 

“You have to go soon, right?” She steps back into me, wrapping her arms around mine so that I can’t really hug her back and tucking her chin over my shoulder. 

It’s a mad hug. I recognize that immediately even though I’ve never gotten one before and I shake my head, squinting up at the sun. 

“No, it’s barely mid-morning, I don’t have to leave until midday, we have time to talk–”

“You’ve got to load up, I’ll help,” she pulls away, leaving me irrationally cold for the balmy breeze, and is on Hotgut and in the air before I can think of how to tell her that she really doesn’t have to help. 

“Thor-dammit,” I swing onto Bang and nudge him into the air, “come on, bud.” I urge him a little faster than is strictly necessary, hoping I can land before Fuse, even though it’s not a very long flight. 

She doesn’t need to be helping me load, especially now. Not only because she’s apparently worried about responsibilities that she thinks come with the totally imagined role of chief’s wife, but because it’s hitting me now that she wasn’t exactly thrilled with my scale-brained solution to getting our own place even before I brought up Elva.

All these years, I thought she was just being her patient, mind-reading self when she didn’t ask about marriage. 

Maybe it’s not that easy. 

Maybe she only said she was happy about the baby and now that she can see it, she’s not anymore. Maybe she thought she’d be having a baby with a chief, just how she’s been planning to be married to a chief. 

My head is spinning when Bang dives too fast, caught up in my nervous energy. He lands on the dock with a thump and a creak and I nearly hit my head on his with the force of it. I pat his nose anyway as I climb off, muttering something like praise and looking up to see the shadow of Hotgut’s belly gently lowering the charges to the dock. 

Fuse gets off and starts talking to Arvid, who is carrying one half of a stack of boards. He hands them off to someone else and starts untying half of the bombs from Fuse’s saddle while she gets the other side. 

“Hey, you really don’t have to help,” I put my hand on her shoulder, her very tense shoulder, and she sighs, turning towards me with a tight lipped smile. 

“Which ship is the most stable?” She picks up the bombs and when I don’t answer immediately, looks to Arvid. 

“Far one,” he holds out his free hand, “I can take those.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Oh, so he can help, but I can’t?” I laugh, incredulous and working on a weird bitter taste in the back of my mouth. 

Arvid pauses, “everything ok?” 

“Make sure they can’t roll around,” Fuse cautions him and Arvid looks between us for a second before nodding. 

“I’ve got some pavers I can pack them in with.” 

“Fuse,” I try again to talk to her but a hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to see the chief, smiling expectantly at me. “Not now–”

“Oh, this won’t take long, I just wanted to ask you your opinion on that current Aurelia found,” he looks at Fuse, “sorry, am I interrupting the goodbye?”

“Yes, but it’s fine,” she nods at him, turning around and heading towards where Aurelia and Smitelout are inspecting a crate full of what looks like scrap metal. 

“What’s that about?” The chief asks, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more obvious in the bright sun. 

I almost tell him, honestly, that I just propositioned Fuse and I go find a way around his contract’s less exciting obligations, but I’m scared I won’t stop if I start. 

“I figured out the current with Aurelia, I’ll check it out while I’m there,” I brush him off, trying to walk towards Fuse. The hand on my shoulder stops me and it takes the last little part of me that’s not panicking to keep from smacking it off. “What?” I snap at him and he raises his eyebrows. 

“I just wanted to ask about what you’re thinking with the new dam, Sven was–”

“Sven knows what I want, he just doesn’t like to use the far quarry.” My voice comes out louder than I want it to and I swallow hard against the tremble in my throat that threatens to introduce itself when I try again, more quietly, stepping out from under his hand. “Gustav was there when I talked to Sven last, he’ll back me up. Is there anything else?” 

“Are you feeling ok?” He narrows his eyes at me, fatherly concern that I’ve always brushed off adding to the pile of things to deal with later. “You–”

“Look like shit, I’m aware. I’ve got to–”

“Twerp!” Smitelout calls from next to her crate, “how much scrap did you say we’d trade?” 

“None yet!” I swear under my breath, “their mine isn’t producing yet–”

“I said I’d give Elva an advance, it’s fine,” Aurelia brushes me off and Fuse’s ears turn pink as she waves at Smitelout and Aurelia and starts untangling rope from Hotgut’s saddle, getting ready to take off. 

“Fuck, did I ok an advance?” I ask, jogging over to look into the crate. 

“Yeah,” Aurelia shows me a piece of parchment, my name written in sloppy runes along the bottom of the page. “Or maybe it was a draugr with your hair–” She reaches out to muss it and I glare at her, batting her hand away and trying again to get to Fuse. 

Mom stops me this time, catching me by my elbow and holding out a packed rucksack. 

“You forgot this,” she sets the strap in my hand and I almost drop it, fumbling it over my shoulder and nodding at her. 

“Thanks, but I have to–”

“One more thing before you’re ready to go,” Arvid doesn’t so much cut me off as start a whole new conversation on top of the fifty smothered under the weight of Fuse’s words and tears and my own confusion about them. “Which boat do you want Bang on?” 

It’s an easy question. It’s a question he knows the answer to, since Bang only really fits on one of them now that they’re loaded up. 

I open my mouth to say as much but something else comes out. 

“None.” I drop my rucksack on my toe and something hard in the bottom of it hurts enough to startle my thoughts back to the present. 

“What?” Arvid frowns at me. 

“Careful with that, I packed your hammer in your bedroll,” Mom picks the ruck sack back up and I step away from it, hands held out in front of me. 

“I’m not going,” I shake my head, “I’ve got too much going on here, I’m not going.” I go through the mental list of what I had to do this week. Check Aurelia’s current. Build more houses. Blow up mines. “Arvid, you can go this week, you know what to do.” 

“Like Hel he can,” Aurelia shows up, arms crossed, fatigue sharpening the edge of her tone, “I need him on call to–”

“I’m on call,” I press my fingertips to a suddenly throbbing temple, “you can catch me up later, Arvid’s going.” 

“It’s fine,” he gives Aurelia a nod and kisses her cheek, “I don’t mind.” 

“I mind,” she tries again and Mom is staring at me like she’s wondering if she has to step in and say something. 

“It’s my decision,” I look evenly at Aurelia, pulse slowing almost immediately when she flexes her jaw and then nods at me, accepting if irritated. “Fuse!” She hasn’t taken off yet and I hold my hand out towards her, hoping she’ll wait. “Just a second, I just need to…delegate, really quick. Arvid, go get packed, the boats can wait that long. Aurelia, you can handle the rest of the loading. Tell Smitelout I said to keep back the scrap one more week, if I’m not going, no one can teach them to work with gronckle iron anyway and it makes the skiff less stable if a storm blows in. Mom–” I turn to her and catch myself just before giving an order. “Sorry, shit, can–I mean, please, can you tell the chief not to worry about the dam?” 

“I hear you,” the chief joins our little conversation as Arvid and Aurelia leave it, following orders with significantly less teasing than normal. “And I think it’s a good decision for you to stay,” he and Mom share one of those painful, confusing looks between married people who live together and I feel like my head is going to explode. “Good job making that decision, I know it’s not easy to–”

“Good talk, chief.” I stare at his genuine half smile for an awkward second before shaking my head. “I’ll–be at home later, I guess.” 

He says something else after me but I don’t pause to parse through it, jogging to Hotgut’s side and leaning against her shoulder, like I can hold her down so she can’t take off. Fuse nudges me in the ribs with her toe and sighs, fingers stiff on the front of her saddle. 

“What was that?” I try, not really sure where to start. 

“I’m tired,” she says. It’s an excuse, which I’ve heard from her about as often as she’s cried. But I can’t dispute it, I don’t see how she wouldn’t be tired. 

“Well, maybe we can talk later,” I pat her knee and she relaxes slightly, nudging my side with her foot again. Hotgut grunts and leans into me and I scratch her under the chin with my other hand, searching Fuse’s expression for anything out of the ordinary. 

“Sounds good,” she smiles slowly, cautiously, and it splits into a wide yawn. 

Maybe she’s just tired. 

I’m about as bad at lying to myself as she is at lying to me.


	10. Chapter 8.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuse POV

Only Eret can make Fuse so simultaneously proud and fiercely jealous at the same time. And then she feels guilty for being jealous, even though it won’t help anything, and it wastes time and energy she could put into helping him. And it’s starting to seem more and more like he doesn’t need her help, even if he’s so sincere about reminding her that he wants it, and she’s trying so hard not to hear pity where there is none. Eret says so many things at once, there are so many layers to the careful, coddling hands on her shoulders and face and the gentle words and the apologies she doesn’t need for things she shouldn’t be upset about that she can barely think straight around him sometimes. 

The truth is she’s not sure why she cried this morning, it came out of nowhere and compounded with every bit of selfless comfort that Eret offered when he shouldn’t have to. 

Fuse fidgets with her vest after leaving Hotgut outside, shoving the reinforced front door of her house open with a shoulder and pausing when she sees her parents and Darren eating at the table. Her mom gives her a sympathetic look. 

“Eret gone again, honey?” 

“No, he stayed.” The guilt, again, confused and victorious in her stomach where nausea only recently made room for other, far more unpleasant feelings. Eret stayed because of her and as happy as she is that he cares so much, it just reminds her of his mom at the pier with a bag she packed, helping without him having to ask her to. 

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” Her dad asks around a mouthful of bread, “you two aren’t even married yet, it’s way too early to stop liking each other.” 

“Shut up, Tuff,” her mom throws a chunk of cheese at her dad and it bounces off of his head onto the floor, where Chicken VII starts pecking at it, excited. "There’s food on the hearth if you’re hungry.“ 

Fuse starts to brush her mom off but her stomach growls like it personally heard the offer and it’s hard to avoid rubbing the strange new shape of it. It feels like concrete data she hasn’t had time or space to think about, and the way Eret looked at her when he touched it only adds on to the pile of things she has to solve. It’s a bigger pile than ever, taking up space in her brain and shed and room in a way she’s not used to at all, triggering the stupid, useless guilt like a pressure plate every time she remembers it. Eret is dealing with so much more. Eret’s list is a mile long and he still has time to help her, even if he loses sleep over it. She shouldn’t need so much help, but lately, every problem she solves seems to spawn two new ones in its place. 

She scoops up the rest of a loaf of bread and a block of cheese and starts heading to her room, only to be interrupted by Darren’s most irritating sing-song voice. 

"Are you sure you’re that hungry? I think your butt’s getting bigger–” 

“Shut up,” Fuse cuts him off with a glare, adjusting her vest again. It’s true, she knows it is, but she doesn’t necessarily like Darren pointing it out, especially when she knows he’s just trying to get under her skin. 

Especially because it works, like her skin is way thinner than it used to be. 

“I’m just trying to help you, you might want to watch your butt if you want Eret to keep watching your butt.” 

Fuse tucks the loaf under her arm and takes a handful of powder out of her lower vest pocket to smash it onto Darren’s chest with a puff of blue-gray dust. It’s expired after hanging on a hook for the better part of a year, but it should still itch like poison oak if Darren gets his clothes wet.

“Not inside,” her mom cautions her, glaring at Darren, “as much as your brother deserved that.” 

“He deserves more than that,” Fuse glares at him, “and it’s not flammable here.” 

“Here?” Darren squeaks, “what do you mean by here?” 

“You’ll see. Maybe.” Fuse wrinkles her nose at the smell of him. She expected that to go away with the nausea but it didn’t, if anything, it’s worse now that feeling sick is less constant and more triggered by random, sudden things. 

“What does that mean?” Darren looks between their parents and Fuse is relieved to see that they’re both unsympathetic. 

“Don’t comment on a lady’s weight, son, especially if she’s armed.” Their dad says with a shrug. 

“It’s Fuse, not a lady.” Darren’s grumble picks at Fuse’s open emotional wound again, because it’s true. She’s not a lady, not even in the Viking sense where a bit more spitting and cursing is allowed, but there’s still not room to strike without checking in first. 

“Even more dangerous,” her dad sighs, brushing some of the dust off of Chicken VII’s feathers with gentle fingers. Fuse takes that as her cue to walk away and she manages to shut herself in her room before anyone says anything else. 

Her room is covered and filled with hints of Eret. There’s gifts he’s given her and the vest he made her all resting on shelves that he installed himself after the fire. Fuse doesn’t understand how he leaves his mark so thoroughly on things, why his intent hovers around them like mist every time she looks at them. She used to think the only way to really make a permanent mark was a crater, but even then, the dust settles eventually and no one remembers when it was anything but a hole. 

Fuse decided to bomb the princess, it’s everything that came after it that she didn’t plan on. 

First, it was bad enough coming back to Eret so distressed, like his biggest worry was upsetting her instead of being married off by the chief to someone he didn’t know or love. It was the thrill of success as much as the need to remind him that she had his back, entirely and always, that had her pushing him into her shed. She didn’t think he’d be disappointed in her though, and even though he never admitted it, she saw it in his grim expression and heard it in the way he talked to the chief, promising to fix other people’s messes. 

It was just the first time the mess was hers. 

She didn’t decide for him to leave, especially so much and for so long, and for the first time without her. She didn’t decide to hit dragon hunters, if she had, she would have done a better job and he wouldn’t still be dealing with the problem. She definitely didn’t decide to get pregnant, she didn’t decide to impose this time limit on them. She didn’t decide for Eret’s eyes to light up when she told him, for him to practically glow with the news like only rare explosives are supposed to. 

She didn’t decide to change things, the change all just spawned out of the crater of her decision, like Snaptrapper heads peeking out of a nest one by one. 

Bitterness, like guilt, is another useless emotion, but Fuse can’t help but feel bitter that she knew Eret was important before anyone else did and now she has to share him with everyone who doubted him. She’s proud to hear him giving orders, sounding like the chief she knows he’s going to be, but it makes him feel distant, like he belongs to something else. To someone else. 

It makes him sound like his mother’s son and that’s who he has to be as chief. 

Fuse was never particularly troubled by the fact that Astrid didn’t like her, so she didn’t expect to be so instantly frustrated when Astrid decided she was alright after all. It was like she was being judged when she didn’t even know it and suddenly, she became useful in a way Astrid would tolerate. She’s never needed approval, but that didn’t prepare her for the abrasive itch of unwanted acceptance, like a wild dragon rubbing up on her leg. And now that she’s pregnant, there’s no ignoring it, Astrid is going to be in her life, approving or not but always judging, forever. 

And it’s worse than that because Eret said it himself, his mom handles the chief’s wife part perfectly. It makes Fuse jealous of things she doesn’t think she cares about and that’s worse than wishing she were different or better, because she doesn’t wish that. She kind of wishes that Eret didn’t have to be chief, and that’s awful, because he wants it so much and he’ll be so great at it. But in the moment, she kind of resents the pressure it puts on her, especially since she’ll be competing against the person who’s always thought her least capable of the job of supporting him.

Which might be kind of fair, considering the last decision she made ended up making Eret’s life so much harder. 

The bread is good, but dry, and Fuse wishes she’d grabbed some water before shutting herself in here. She could go out and get some, of course, maybe even spill it on Darren to be sure he itches the way he deserves, but she feels exposed because he noticed something was different. It was different when only Eret noticed, because she told him, and because he’s dealing with the difference too, on top of everything else. Even then though, as much as his careful, awkward joy makes her think of a future where this works out, she doesn’t want things between them to change. 

She likes not being married to him. She likes how it makes her feel unbiased, like she’s following him because he’s right and not because she has to. She likes being a Thorston, a step away from the Haddock-Hofferson alliance that holds so much sway and spends all of its time in everyone’s private business. Of course, she wishes she could see Eret more, but it was never a problem until now because she could go with him, and just like many of his other problems, all of it started with the chief pushing marriage on him one way or another. 

But Fuse couldn’t control the chief, she could only react. 

That’s true now too, of course, all she can do is react, but it’s Eret and he keeps startling her. He’s never wanted to get married and all she heard when he proposed going through with it for a house, all she could think of was that things were already different. Are already different. Her vest doesn’t fit and he’s gone all the time and he wants to live with her, even if it involves marrying her. 

She wasn’t lying when she said she was happy about the pregnancy. Well, not so much the pregnancy, but the idea of a family with him. That’s something she wants, of course it is. She confronted the possibility years ago, because despite the disorder of the last few months, Fuse still feels like someone who plans ahead and for multiple scenarios. 

But this morning when he suggested marriage, she felt the weight of that Haddock label for the first time, heavy in her mind and on their future child. How is she supposed to raise an heir if she can’t reconcile herself with being the chief’s wife and maintaining all that goes with it? Especially when the position is already dutifully filled by the person Eret probably respects most. It’s not like Astrid is going to step aside and let Fuse be the one to pack Eret’s bag, if Fuse even thought of things like that reliably enough to volunteer. 

Fuse has spent most of the last five years involved at least peripherally in the complicated web of Eret’s parents and siblings and the thing that still overwhelms her the most is the number of perspectives Eret has to integrate into his decisions because he’s so scared of disappointing someone. He tries to explain it to her, the contrasting fears and opinions and motivations that he either hates or believes or some twisted combination that makes her almost wary of the chaos he must hold in his head. There are three or four people in every decision or event meant for two and Fuse rests her hand on her stomach, nibbling on the block of cheese, afraid that she’s just adding another one to the burden and confusion that Eret has to navigate everyday. 

She lets that fear sink in, irrational and unavoidable and unproductive as worrying about it is. Getting through this is impossible, of course, because it’ll never stop. The pressure, the diplomacy, the problems cascading onto him one by one will be constant and there’s no way to cut off flow or dam it up. All she can do is support him the way she knows how, she can listen and talk him down. She can give him tools and hold him to the truth, even when he blows it so easily out of proportion. She’s vaporized enough bedrock to know how to mimic it, the bigger question is if Eret knows how to stand on it. 

Fuse snorts to herself and lays back on her bed, staring at the ceiling with her hand tapping rhythmically on her stomach. 

Maybe the biggest question is if his mom will let him. 

And suddenly, she finds herself understanding Eret in a way she never quite has before. She understand that urge to prove himself, to make people think that she’s more than they did initially. She doesn’t just want to support Eret, she wants to prove that all of Astrid’s judgements about her were wrong, because if she wins that impossible approval, she’ll understand her own path forward. She’s going to make this easier on Eret, and she’s going to do it first.


	11. Chapter 9

I don’t mean to take a nap. I especially don’t mean to take a nap outside, head pillowed on Bang’s tail in the clearing behind the chief’s house. I don’t really notice that I’m taking a nap until I’m waking up, familiar sooty fingers on my cheek. I open my eyes to Fuse leaning over me with a concerned expression, fingernails scratching gently in my beard. 

“Is it later?” She asks, debating whether to sit down next to me or not and I interrupt the decision, wrapping a sleepy arm around her waist and pulling her down against my side. Her head smacks a little too hard into my shoulder and I flinch, but if anything, the twinge makes me sleepier and I rest my cheek on her hair, shushing her gently. 

“Just a few more minutes.” 

“Eret,” she smiles through a stern tone, hand firm on the center of my chest as she sits up. "You didn’t leave.“ 

"I know,” I sound whiny accidentally and clear my throat, “we don’t need to talk about that when we could sleep.” 

“We do need to talk,” she thumps my chest with her palm and I sigh, opening my eyes and staring at the sky. Perfect blue, small puffs of clouds drifting in front of a too bright sun. Bang’s scales are a perfect cool pillow and I almost roll over and capture Fuse again because there’s only so much fight anyone could put up against napping right now. 

“Yeah.” 

“About earlier.” 

“I know,” I huff, reluctantly scooting backwards to prop myself against Bang’s tail. I rub my eye with my knuckle and Fuse curls into my side a little more conventionally as my hand finds that waist that’s not quite familiar. Close, but new. New enough to wake me up with an uncomfortable lurch from drowsiness. “Yeah.” 

“You stayed,” she sounds disappointed this time but not with me, and I squint down at her, seeing mostly shiny strawberry blonde. 

“I did more than stay.” 

I kind of asked Fuse to marry me. In a weird, roundabout fuck-the-chief way, but still, I asked her. And she didn’t only not say yes, but she started crying, and it hurts in a way I don’t want to deal with. I know it shouldn’t hurt this way because she loves me and she says it and she feels so good curled against my side. So good and comfortable and familiar, and the more I rub my fingers over her waist, the more this feels like how it’s supposed to be. Bang is adding to it somehow, his eternally cool scales under my head and shoulders while the sun is warm on my face and again, I consider diverting this into naptime. 

Or, you know, something else. If we weren’t within sight of the chief’s back door, that would be a distinctly more definite consideration. 

Wait, can you do that when the girl is pregnant? 

I frown involuntarily thinking about the fact that Rolf definitely has a book with that information in it. I’m not asking him and if I ask Fuse, she’d probably ask him. Not directly, or anything, but–well, if we were married, I could ask married people what you do about stuff when your wife is pregnant. It stings in that still fresh scrape of a wound and I bite my lip. 

It was kind of a proposal. I suggested going and getting married. I thought about it. I figured it out, I half planned what our house would look like and I liked thinking about that, so much. But it wasn’t real, necessarily. It’s not like I asked Tuffnut. I didn’t save up any silver or anything. I have no money, I don’t think. I kind of just put all my money into that jar Aurelia collects coins in and ask her for it back when I need any. I definitely didn’t negotiate with my parents. 

It was a fake proposal, wasn’t it? I can deal with that. 

“Eret,” Fuse sighs, heavy, her flat tone faltering at the edges as her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, one finger dipping into the V of it and stroking the edge of a fireworm scar. 

“You know I wasn’t actually asking you to marry me or anything, right?” I laugh, surprisingly convincing because Fuse lifts her head and stares at me, blue eyes narrowed. "It was just…you know, a concept. An idea. Not a real, typical proposal or anything.“ 

The pause drags out like a Whispering Death using my nerves as a shield to bore into solid rock, silent and painful. Fuse sighs suddenly, tucking her face into my neck with a little too much force, her lips disproportionately gentle against my skin as she talks. 

"Good.” 

My heart drops, the vision of a house that’s ours depicted in a similar mental artistic style as my parents’ house in its prime disappearing to mist. But it’s a relief too, because Fuse’s entire body relaxes as she leans into me, her stomach warm and solid against my side. 

“Yeah, I was just wondering where we were going to put a baby, so I said some hasty things.” It’s a joke. They don’t feel hasty. They don’t feel as slow as the chief and my mom wish they did, but they definitely don’t feel hasty. 

Fuse doesn’t get the joke because she relaxes further, one leg sliding over mine as one hand slips under my shirt to brush against the edge of my scars. 

“Babies are small,” I try to continue my streak of good luck, “I’m sure we’ll find like a corner or–”

“You didn’t have to stay because of me,” she sound disappointed again, weirdly, but not in me, also weirdly, because she starts kissing my neck again, determined, the hand against my scars splaying slightly. "Especially while you’re gone fixing this.“ There’s a harshness in her tone that accompanies teeth on my collarbone and I don’t really know how to argue, especially because everything she’s saying is true. She’s at least factually correct and her hand is moving up as her mouth moves down and I nod. 

"Shouldn’t take too long.” I’m not really sure what I’m talking about after the last few weeks, but it doesn’t matter that much. Not now. 

“Either way.” Fuse grins sympathetically and I close my eyes. 

Making Fuse a new vest is kind of fun. Not only because it’s a project that no one else has input in but because I get to sit in Smitelout’s comfortable stool in front of the fire, stretching leather and stitching along my charcoal marks, focused on only one thing at a time. Fuse doesn’t think she needs a new vest, of course, she just keeps saying how she’s supporting me and not asking for anything. I guess this is for me more than for her. And that’s fine, it helps her anyway. 

And it has the dual purpose of calming me down, at least until the chief shows up at the forge window, knocking on the counter in a dorky way that made me laugh before he betrothed me to some random princess. It doesn’t matter that Elva is nice, I still flinch when I see him, feeling sixteen and unprepared. There are some kinds of unprepared that my knife’s weight against my leg doesn’t help.

“Hey chief, Smitelout isn’t here right now,” I sit up, rolling my shoulders and stretching the stitch sore fingers. "She said she’d be back whenever I was done.“ 

"Sounds like her,” he leans on the counter. His face is cautious, but just enough to feel vulnerable and I stab another careful stitch through the leather in my hands, checking the strength before going again. 

“What do you need?” 

“You, actually,” he looks at me with that uncomfortable blend of understanding and assessment and I shift in the chair. "I was just with Aurelia, she got a message from Arvid, something about dragon trappers.“ 

"Oh?” I sit up straighter, “really?” 

“Yeah, he found something,” the chief shrugs, shoulder bouncing under old, soft leather armor. "That’s what Aurelia told me to tell you, I didn’t pry too much further.“ 

"I should go talk to her,” I fold the vest carefully over my arm and stand up, “thanks for the message–”

“What are you making?” The chief stares at the folded leather and I shrug. 

“Vest.” 

“For you?” There’s no feeling in it, like he’s asking for me to fill in self-incriminating gaps and I grit my teeth and shrug. 

“Maybe it’ll fit. How’s Mom?”

“You live with her occasionally, you tell me.”

“She seems…healthy.” I joke like I haven’t been avoiding her. I’ve been avoiding everyone, really, except for Fuse. And villagers, of course, just…family. As much as I feel like I need advice, I don’t want it. 

“New vest for Fuse?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning elbows on the counter like he expects me to talk to him. I hate that I kind of want to, I hate remembering how easy it was even a few months ago. We were ok, weren’t we? That’s almost worse than the other changes. 

“Yep,” I nod, “I can finish it later.” 

I hate that he wouldn’t be a bad person to talk to about this, all things considered. He knows what it’s like to have a child with someone he’s not married to. He knows how the relationship is with said child after they didn’t grow up under his roof. I hate that all he’d do is tell me to get married and I’d have to admit that it’s the only path forward I’m seeing, which will sound like agreement instead of understanding. 

“Ok, I get it,” he shakes his gray head and laughs, a bit sheepishly, “you don’t want to talk to me.” 

“Yeah, I don’t.” I lie with a shrug, my face carefully flat like Aurelia keeps trying to show me. I’m not good at it, not like she is, but the chief gives me a tired shake of his head. 

“I just wanted to tell you again that I’m proud of you for deciding to stay here this week.” He says it like a compliment but it doesn’t feel like one, knowing I’ve got to go talk to Aurelia. 

“Yeah, great choice that was, considering Arvid found trappers without me and now I have to go get a message from Aurelia about it. She worries about him like she forgets he’s a giant man with a giant sword as soon as he’s out of sight.” I scoff, cleaning up the needle I was using and probably putting it away in the wrong place. Whatever, Smitelout is going to yell at me later no matter what. “If I’d been there, maybe I could have done more than send a message.” 

“You haven’t even seen the message yet.” 

“I know it’s probably about something I should have been there for.” 

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” the chief sighs like he knows how true it is and I think of the vest in my hands, made to expand without my help or presence.

“I know.” 

“Can I ask why you decided to stay?” He can’t know anything but I feel cornered anyway and frown at him. 

“You can, but I don’t see what it’ll get you.” I roll my eyes at him and it doesn’t budge his concerned expression. That pisses me off, because somehow, no matter what I do or don’t do lately, he’s completely immovable. He won’t get mad at me or react to me or make me chief and it makes me want to push him, but that’s a sixteen year old answer to the problem. I sigh and decide on a scrap of the truth, “I guess I just kind of freaked out a little bit. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” he reaches through the forge window to pat me on the shoulder and I let him. Maybe I’m feeling a little sympathetic knowing there’s some theoretical child of mine on its way. I’d hope that even if I mess up as much as the chief has, they’d at least let me awkwardly shoulder thump them.

Oh Gods, I’ve been so worried about where to put a baby that I haven’t even really dug into how to not mess one up as it grows up. That’s something I definitely don’t know how to do. 

“I guess that’s fair, I am good at finding new things to freak out about,” I clear my throat and try not to look at his face too hard. The clueless, disconnected expression of parental concern with no idea as to the gravity of my situation is frankly terrifying. I start flipping through everything Arvid and I ever got away with and everything the chief doesn’t see and know about me and Stoick and Aurelia and my blood feels cold in my veins. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

“Nope.” My eye twitches a little and I blink hard to stop it, “just a normal…freak out, not really your department of expertise.” That feels a little mean to say but makes me feel better too, because I did stay when I thought Fuse was mad at me. Maybe that’s a tiny step in a different direction from the chief’s footsteps. Then again, I’m already on a different path because he was already chief when he was my age. And I’m not going to be chief until I fix whatever Arvid found and Fuse is thinking about being chief’s wife and I don’t have time to go back around that bend right now. I clap, bringing myself back to attention as much as the chief. “I should go talk to Aurelia, then.” 

“I’ll walk that way with you,” he narrows his eyes at me even as he smiles, a surprisingly authentic imitation of my mom’s mind reading expression on his face, “I’ve got to go check in on something anyway.”

“Something’s not quite my name, but it’s close,” I try to brush him off, shrugging a stiff shoulder as casually as I can. "I’m fine, I just need to go figure out whatever Arvid’s message said.“ While not telling Aurelia that Fuse is pregnant and also that I’ve realized that I’m probably just as doomed to be a dad like the chief as I am to have red hair or be scrawny enough to get confused for Arvid’s toothpick. "It’ll be fun.” 

“Have you been having any of that?” He jokes, falling into step beside me, and I ignore the sudden urge to whistle for Bang. I don’t actually want to get to Aurelia’s house faster today and I also don’t want the chief to see me avoiding him as I take a few laps around the island before getting back to work. Especially when he raises his eyebrow and I wonder if he happened to look out the back door that afternoon I decided to stay here. But he wouldn’t keep quiet about that, and even if he did, Mom would get it out of him and there’s no way she’d keep quiet about it so I divert him, holding up the half-finished vest. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m sewing.” 

“Right, sewing, your favorite past time,” he rolls his eyes, looking pointedly at my arms, “I should pick up a needle more often.” 

“It gives you lots of time to think,” I say honestly, hoping that it’s enough to convince him to go away. And that makes me think of the kid I haven’t met yet, Fuse’s eyes as disinterested in talking to me as I am about the chief right now and my heart stutters. Worse, the chief seems to get the dismissal and decide, for some reason, that today is the day my stubbornness is to be heeded instead of argued with. 

“Well, if you want to talk about it–”

“I’m still squatting in your house, remember?” It comes out a little bitter and I force a laugh, “I know where to find you.” 

Aurelia writes off my twitchiness with alarmingly little interrogation as she explains what Arvid found out. Letters are coming into the island from somewhere other than the main dock and that means that the trappers not only know about the current, but they know they’re being monitored. Arvid is planning to stay another week to wait for me and as much as I don’t want to go, I’m a little relieved that we agree I shouldn’t fly out early because waiting for the next shift change is less cause for alarm. 

That means I get time to talk to Fuse about it, at least, and she nods, steely and committed to the concept even as I want her to beg me to stay. Or not beg, I don’t want her to feel like she has to beg, but ask? Maybe? Because I can’t decide to stay, not now, but I also can’t even think about leaving her alone in this without my throat feeling tight and we still haven’t talked. She has the new vest, at least, and that makes me feel better, but I don’t understand how she can be so confident. Or worse, maybe she’s not and she’s not telling me because she thinks it would make me stay, except that doesn’t sound like her. I can’t start questioning that now. 

And it’s not that Fuse can’t handle herself, of course she can, of course I know she can. I just can’t stop thinking about something going wrong and no one knowing. As amazing as it feels to see that this is all real, it also just keeps reminding me how real it is. Women die from being pregnant and not just having the babies, I know that much. 

If Arvid were here, I’d tell him, honestly. I could trust him to keep it relatively quiet and keep an eye on Fuse. I’d probably only get a few bored looks about getting married, finally, at long last, and he probably wouldn’t go out of his way to make me feel bad about Fuse rejecting the idea of a proposal to maybe get married somewhere else. But he’s not, because I was dumb enough to send him when I shouldn’t have because I should be on that island and this problem would be solved already and–No.

I exhale, hitting my head against the nearest wall a couple times and leaning against it. 

I know the answer. It’s just going to hurt a bit. 

“Are you ready to go?” Aurelia asks without looking up when I push her front door open an inch and peek inside. It’s easier to stare at the redecorated wall than have her read my mind before I get the words out. 

I thought lying about this for so long would be harder, honestly. I wonder if I should ask Fuse if I should tell Aurelia, but if she said no, how could I leave without anyone knowing enough to help her if something goes wrong? And I trust Aurelia. I’ll tell Fuse when I get back, she’ll forgive me. This is a forgiveness situation, not a permission one. I’m quoting Fuse quoting her dad there, so I don’t see how she could see issue with the logic. It’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

“Uh…almost,” I step inside, stuffing my hands in my pockets and nodding at a map of the archipelago hanging on the wall. “That’s new.”

“You’re being weird,” Aurelia looks up, eyes narrowed. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not, I just…I like the map.” 

“I’m not mad about you sending Arvid anymore,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m sorry, I just–I’m not used to you pulling rank on me like that, but of course, you get to. And maybe it was better that he was there instead of you, I’m not sure you could have caught this without escalating.”

“Why is everyone so sure I escalate everything?” I frown, scuffing my boot on the floor.

Telling Aurelia is the right thing to do, she can watch out for Fuse while I’m gone and keep things calm and it’s all going to be ok. I just can’t figure out how to say it. Pregnant. I don’t think I like that word. It sounds so final and serious and doesn’t leave room for me to be happy about more Fuse in the world because it also means I’m going to be a father and I don’t know how to do that. 

Hel, Aurelia is the one person who might understand my logic on that one. She’s also the chief’s child and while he hasn’t been dangling chief in front of her for four years, they haven’t always gotten along as I can attest first hand. They’re like Mom and Arvid, honestly, their entire relationship changed when she moved out and he couldn’t nag her about dragons all the time.

If only she were as understanding about the fact that I’m also not a husband. 

“You came here to talk to me, why don’t you spit it out so that you can go pack? I’m assuming you haven’t packed yet.”

“How much do I really need to pack?” I pat the knife on my belt, “I should be good, given my reputation for escalating.” 

“I don’t really have time to chat right now, so if you aren’t going to tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me, I’d like to get back to work.” She’s not kidding and I momentarily feel bad about what I’m about to drop on her. I hardly ever notice how tired she looks, but right now I’m just going to add to the dark circles under her eyes and I’m apologetic in advance. 

It’s for Fuse. She needs someone looking out for her while I’m gone and worse than that, she doesn’t think she does. I can trust Aurelia to slide food under her nose three times a day and make sure she doesn’t go blowing stuff up without backup. 

“I have to tell you something.” I get the words out and pause, gesturing in front of me and looking for the next piece. 

“Ok, what is it?” 

“It’s…don’t freak out.” I bite my lip, crossing the room and sitting down in the chair beside her, wringing my hands together on the table. 

“Why would I freak out?” She raises an eyebrow, “what did you do?” 

That makes me laugh, a tired, nasal laugh that I probably should have held in, “it’s only partially something that I did–”

“Thor’s beard, I know that tone, you found another warlord didn’t you?” She starts shuffling papers around, reaching for what looks like some kind of inventory. “How do you keep doing this? It’s only been a few months–”

“It’s not a warlord.” 

“Ok, dictator, pirate king, invader, conqueror, whatever this one is calling themselves–”

“It’s not a warlord,” I flatten my hands on the table and look at them instead of at Aurelia. “Or, you know, maybe it is. In about twenty years after I’ve been a horrible father.”

“What?” Her eyes bore into the side of my head and I turn slowly to face her, wincing in anticipation of her reaction. “Fuse is pregnant?”

“Kind of? Well, not kind of, definitely. She’s definitely pregnant. It’s starting to show, like, her stomach I mean. Obviously.” I bite the inside of my cheek to shut myself up and it only works temporarily because Aurelia is staring at me with inexplicably silent judgement. “I expected you to react. To say something or something.”

“That’s why you wanted Arvid to go, isn’t it?” 

“Well…yeah,” I wring my hands together, “and I really don’t want to go now, but if it’s this tense I don’t see a way around it and I just need someone that I trust to know, alright? In case something goes wrong or–”

“Nothing is going to go wrong, I’m on it,” she nods, setting her small, cold hand on mine, “you’re–I know you hate hearing this, but you’re going to have to marry her now, you know that, right?” 

“You’re right, I do hate hearing that.” I bite my lip, “but I know. I know you’re right and we’re going to have to get married but I can’t even think about that right now because I’m freaking out about the fact that I have to leave and I’m going to keep having to leave and I’m so worried I can’t think straight.” 

“Have you brought up getting married somewhere else?” She asks innocently, like a reminder, and my heart drops into my stomach like a heavy, hot stone. 

I could tell her that the concept wasn’t so much rejected as vaporized, but I can already imagine the pity in her face and I think if she directed it at me, I’d crack. 

“Not yet.” 

“What are you waiting for?” She rolls her eyes and I shrug. 

“I’m not chief yet. I’m not even chief, how am I supposed to be a father? I’m never going to be chief if I drop this peaceful solution halfway through because this entire thing started because the chief thought I couldn’t do anything peacefully.” I stand back up and start pacing, yanking at my hair like it could help me think some way through this. It’s more true than I want it to be. "And if I get married and then become chief, I’m always going to feel like the chief just made that decision because I did what he wanted as opposed to him actually thinking I can do it.” 

“Ok, but what does that have to do with Fuse?” 

“Nothing,” I sigh, “it has to do with me.” Or it would have nothing to do with her if I’d been smart enough to say ‘Christians’ instead of Elva. Or maybe even then, it’s not like Christians could make me chief, not without a lot more drama. 

“Yeah, and there’s a new deadline on you figuring it out. I’m just saying.” 

“Trust me, I know.” I look at all the ways she looks like the chief and try to count the differences. His eyes but she narrows them differently. His mouth but a different frown. “It’s not important now, I guess. I have at least a week to think on it.”

“I don’t think there’s much to think on,” Aurelia shakes her head in fond annoyance and if I were feeling more mean and less exhausted, I’d tell her how much that particular motion looks like her dad. “Or I guess you already did the thinking. Or the lack of thinking. Whichever gets your girlfriend pregnant.”

“Lack of thinking,” I nod to myself, “definitely lack of thinking.” 

“Does Fuse know you told me?” 

“Nope, she doesn’t want to tell anyone either.” 

“Have you asked why?” Aurelia raises an eyebrow, “because if it’s about your marriage hangup–”

“No, I haven’t asked why. She hasn’t really seemed up to it, honestly, she was throwing up and sleeping all the time and now she’s catching up on work like…well, her. And it’s a challenge to get her to stop working and eat under normal circumstances, you know how she is.” 

“So you want me to monitor and feed your pregnant girlfriend while not letting on that I know she’s pregnant.” She nods to herself, looking remarkably like Mom accepting a challenge. That gives me hope. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“And congratulations, by the way.” She twirls her braid around her writing stick, half thinking and half dismissing me. “Future dad. Gods, it’s weird to think of you as a dad.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Hey, at least Future Dad is guaranteed to take significantly less than four years to drop the modifier. I think I already like it more than Future Chief.


	12. Chapter 10

The week with Arvid is uneventful. Well, not uneventful, we catch two trappers communicating with a boat we halfway recognize and a shiny red flag made out of monstrous nightmare skin that makes Arvid clench his fists and step in front of me before I can get my knife out. It’s probably risky and stupid to get rid of them while their connection is within our sightline, and we keep watch that night, but if anyone saw us, it hasn’t gotten back to anyone on the island yet. That’d be the easier way to do this, honestly, their numbers are probably small enough that an open fight wouldn’t be a guaranteed loss, but I know that the chances of one or two of them getting away would be larger in an actual conflict. 

Either way, I can’t go home yet this week because someone needs to stay. There’s a second of a selfish thought that if I told Arvid why I needed to go home so badly, he’d let me, but that’s not fair to him or Fuse. Especially since I already told Aurelia without asking her. 

I just want this all to be over. Especially after Arvid leaves and there’s no one I have to lie to, no one I have to keep up pretenses for. Well, the Berk volunteers, sure, but I sent most of them home too because frankly, I need some moping time and I don’t want word of it getting back to the chief, especially while he’s making such a production of being so worried about me. 

By the second day on the island alone, the homesickness is reaching critical levels, leeching into my bones like the cold after too long in the frigid sea. It’s enough to drive me to the small mead hall we just finished, but still not enough to get me to do more than just contemplate the two or three bottles of spirits that some locals donated to the cause. 

“That stuff isn’t very good,” Elva’s voice surprises me and I nearly fall off the stool I’m perched on, scrambling at the table to stay upright. “If you want a drink, some of my father’s stores survived,” she holds up her wrist with sort of a wry frown, the pink scars fading to more texture than color. 

“Thanks but no thanks,” I sigh, turning back to the bottles and examining the uneven shape of their crude glass necks. “I don’t drink." 

"You don’t drink?" She perches on the stool next to mine, head cocked like my Haddock accent is a little too thick for her broad Norse, again. 

My lip quirks, "well, I drink water." 

"Obviously." Her voice is dry but not humorous and her irritation is oddly comforting. She and Aurelia need to meet again under less stressful circumstances. Even under stressful ones, they seemed to get along fine. If we weren’t busy arguing our way out of going to war, I bet they’d have all the fun in Midgard making fun of me. 

"And the occasional sip of ale when that’s all there is but nothing harder,” I turn to look at her, resting my chin on one fist, elbow on the table. “I know, not very Viking of me." 

"Very little is." Elva’s expression is the face of someone whose world is slowly righting itself. It reminds me of my own that year when I examined everyone closely, trying to see if they were the same person I’d been told they were for sixteen years. Only Fuse was, really. 

That makes my stomach clench and flop and I sigh, turning back to stare at the bottles. 

"Do you need something?" I ask when she doesn’t leave me to my sulking and she shakes her head. 

"You let everyone else go back to Berk." She narrows her eyes like there’s some plan in it that she’s trying to reason through and I sigh, not really energetic enough to lie to her at the moment. It’s not like it matters. What’s she going to do? Report back to the chief? 

"I needed some time to think without people looking to me for instructions or support or…I don’t know. No one respects a chief who spends time pouting, so I had to carve out some privacy." I sigh, "it’s one of those times I really wish I could stumble off into a drunken nap somewhere, so I guess this is the next best thing." 

"You can’t because you’re scared to be attacked?" 

"Oh, no." I look around to make sure we’re alone and shrug, "well, I guess partially, there’s at least one trapper still around, I think more like two,” that thought lets wind out of my lungs and I sigh. “Beside the point though, I don’t drink because it gives me nightmares. I know, again, biggest, bravest Viking in the land,” I snort. “One mug of mead and as soon as I close my eyes, I’m falling into a volcano all over again." 

Elva tugs her sleeve down slightly, probably remembering my explanation of my scars. 

"That’s healing well,” I comment, gesturing at my side over my shirt, the thud of Smitelout’s hammer a memorable deterrent to being more specific. There’s an edge between us and it takes me a second to identify it, but I feel appropriately stupid immediately. “And you probably see that explosion every time you close your eyes, right. And that was–”

“Your Fuse." 

I like that Elva calls her that but saying so sounds distinctly undiplomatic. 

"I’d say she’s sorry, but I don’t think she is yet. We’re working on it." I wince as it comes out. That was worse. "I made it worse, I think, I suggested that maybe you could marry us because you’re in charge here and I don’t really want the chief of Berk to do it because of…a whole lot of reasons, but anyway, that made her pretty mad." 

"My letter was political,” Elva verges on rolling her eyes but keeps her composure, “she must know that, right?" 

"Oh, yeah, she does. She doesn’t care, she’s–she blew me up too?" I hate that I said that also but Elva softens slightly if only in confusion, "in the volcano. It’s a long story, but mostly, she’s really protective and I don’t know,” I lose where that thought was going and shrug a limp shoulder, “she didn’t want to get married before I mentioned you, anyway, so…the moping." 

"You Berkians get to say no a lot." She shakes her head, looking around at the recently finished building. "But you do more than you have to, so I don’t think I can fault you for it." 

"Yes, both privileges that come with dragons,” I sigh, “but it only goes so far. Even I’m running out of choices here, given that Fuse is pregnant." I don’t really know why I decide to tell her. Maybe I don’t decide, maybe I’m just deep into the moping and something about her presence reminds me of Aurelia without the right to tease me. Either way I like the way her thin eyebrows shoot up her forehead in surprise, like there’s still a single individual in Midgard who is still surprised by the things I get myself into. 

"Aurelia was right." Elva shakes her head, "I did dodge something." 

I laugh, "you did. Well, not entirely, you’re having to deal with me now in exchange for a few slightly crooked buildings, if I do say so myself–”

“I just said you’re doing too much,” she scoffs at me, wounded pride leaking through the defiant posture, “you should go home." 

"Soon,” I nod to myself, staring back at those stupid bottles, wondering vaguely if my nightmares would be volcanic in nature or something else. “I’m close. Once the trappers are dead, I’m out of your hair." 

00000

I don’t expect to see Rolf at the dock when I get back and the fact that I remember he knew about Fuse before I did adds to the bitterness of having to talk to him first. But before I can gripe at him about it, I take in the tiny blonde head in a linen sling against his chest and my mouth goes dry. I get it now, suddenly, the way that Ingrid and Mom used to freeze and instantly plot how to get Rolf’s oldest son into their arms. The only babies I’ve been around since knowing Fuse is pregnant have been a couple of naming ceremonies while they remain tucked safely in blankets in their mothers’ arms. Those made me think about the mothers, and how one of them was younger than Fuse, and as happy as they all were they were pale and tired, and it worried me. 

But this is Rolf’s baby, my half…niece or nephew, I’m not sure from the back of a blonde head. The twins have looked the same the few times I’ve seen them, but either way, I know his wife is fine and this baby feels attached to me, even distantly, and the compulsion to hold them is instant. 

"Can I?" I reach for the baby with tentative hands and Rolf rolls his eyes. 

"No ‘hello’? You’re as bad as our mother,” he smiles a fake, pinched smile like it’s an insult he wants me to dwell on later, but I couldn’t care less. 

“You’d hate my greeting anyway so why bother,” I talk too fast, stumbling through the necessary flippant joke and looking up at him. “Can I hold your baby?" 

"At least you ask,” he extricates his child from the sling with gentle fingers that are the exact opposite of his tone and I hold out my arms, glancing up at him for guidance as he sets the tiny, fussy bundle in my hands. “Support her head." 

"Oh Gods, I’m sorry,” I cradle the head, soft and fuzzy like a late summer peach, in my hand and pull the bundle of blankets close to my chest, bouncing slightly how I’ve seen Ingrid calm Finn. The baby wrinkles its nose and looks alarmingly like Rolf smelling something bad or listening to someone else talk. A little cry of protest makes me feel as inadequate and panicked as I ever have. “Am I doing this right?" 

"You’re fine, she’s just tired." Rolf frowns to himself, a rare moment of confusion making him look tired as he plucks the front of the blanket up and looks down his baby’s chest. "Yes, she's tired, of course. Her brothers are at home, this is supposed to be her naptime, so stop juggling her, it’ll keep her awake." The desperation on the edge of his voice is entirely unlike him and it’s as terrifying as it is funny. 

"Did you forget which baby you had with you?" I tease him, standing inordinately still, the tiny head weighty like gronckle iron in my hand. A little hand reaches out and fists in my shirt and my heart jolts. 

"I came to ask you if the island you’re working with has any sort of library, I’m working on establishing an exchange with a few tribes to the East, but they take forever to get back to me, but it seems like you have a decent rapport there." 

"Your dad just almost complimented me a little bit,” I whisper at the wrinkled little face against my shirt and she yanks at the wool, sticking a fold of it in her mouth. “I know, it’s wild–”

“If you want to harass my daughter, you could come visit me at home sometime." He scoffs just enough for a hint of authenticity to show through and I can’t resist prodding him a little bit more. 

"Is that an invitation? Do you miss me or something?" 

"Don’t be ridiculous,” his gloating is tainted with something ever so slightly like brotherly concern, “I just thought you might want to get used to babies before they become your whole life, screaming in your ears all the time, trying to kill themselves on everything, making it impossible to focus." He shakes his head like he’s trying to forget something traumatic, "right now I’m asking if our new ally has anything resembling a library." 

"No, Elva doesn’t have a library of any kind, they barely have houses, Rolf." 

"Viking priorities,” he grumbles, shaking his head and looking at his daughter in my arms for a second, “I assume you won’t lose her if I leave her with you for a second, I have to track down a map my father borrowed last week that he hasn’t managed to return yet." He scoffs and gestures at Dad’s boat where it’s tied to the farthest pier. 

"If you glare at his boat any harder, you’ll turn into Mom,” I snort at him and he starts to stomp off, but hesitates, glancing at his daughter with a rare, exposed expression of worry that makes my heart clench. I get it, or I get that I will get it, and I hold her a little more tightly to my chest, one hand on her head and one carefully under her back. “I’ve got her, go ahead." 

We don’t have much to unload, but I step out of the way as a few volunteers trickle down from the village to grab empty crates or help moor the boats. A couple of people wave at me and I nod, careful not to jostle the sleeping bundle in my arms. She looks like Rolf an alarming amount, but it’s cute on her, and after allowing myself long enough to get at least most of the moping out of my system, it’s fun again to imagine Fuse as a baby. Hel, maybe I was even cute as a baby, chubby cheeks look good even next to Rolf’s frowning eyebrows. 

"Please tell me Ingrid wasn’t with you,” Mom’s voice breaks my concentration and I look up to see her and Fuse standing together, their expressions oddly complimentary if completely different. Fuse is staring at the bundle of blankets and glancing occasionally up at my face, a far off sort of smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Mom is openly teasing me, shaking her head, something uncomfortably like pride making me worry that she’s about to dig in on the asking for grandkids the way Aurelia’s always complaining about the chief doing. 

I guess that even if she does, I have an answer. Good news, Mom. 

“Oh no, Rolf had to go dig through Dad’s boat for something, so he left me on babysitting duty." I bounce her slightly, "or I guess baby-standing duty, because she fell asleep and I don’t want to move too much." 

"I’ll take her,” Mom reaches unceremoniously for the blankets and I step back. 

“It’s fine." 

"I’m heading by his house anyway, he’s going to be searching that boat for hours, Eret just brought the map back to the library this morning." 

"Should I go tell him that?" Fuse offers, adjusting her vest slightly when my mom looks at her, peeved but unable to say so. 

"I think she wants him to waste time tearing apart Dad’s boat for an hour while she gets naptime,” I grin at my mom’s answering glare and hold my half-niece out carefully. “Support the head." 

"I think I know how to hold a baby,” she shakes her head, “you survived, didn’t you?" 

"Despite my best efforts,” I shrug and Fuse doesn’t think it’s funny. She slides up next to me and grabs my hand, squeezing hard, half tether and half punishment. Mom doesn’t notice me wincing, but that’s probably just because she’s distracted by baby as she says something like a goodbye and starts back up the hill. As soon as she’s out of sight, I rub Fuse’s grip with my free hand and she lets go, tucking her hair back a little sheepish. “What’s up?" 

My own casual tone startles me, and maybe it’s seeing Rolf or holding a baby or my mom and Fuse looking like they’re hanging out together, but the last few minutes were surreal enough that I momentarily forgot that I don’t see Fuse every day. And that I haven’t seen her for two weeks. It’s a punch to the gut more than an ache when it all floods back at once and I hug her before she can answer my stupid question, lifting her off the ground and half spinning before setting her down. 

She squeaks slightly and her cheeks are flushed when I pull back to look at her. 

"Sorry, I hadn’t greeted you appropriately." 

"You were distracted,” she grins at me, that same concentration in her frown as she looks at my face like she’s searching out new scars. There aren’t any this time, thank gods, because my hand is still throbbing a little from her death grip on it and I don’t need to hear about anything else. “Your niece is cute,” she bites her lip like she’s debating saying something else and I squeeze her upper arms to drag it out of her, “seeing you hold her was kind of weird." 

"Good weird?" I know the answer from the bright glow of her cheeks but nodding seems to make her feel better about it. "Holding her was kind of weird. She’s so tiny,” I touch the wet stain on the front of my shirt, “and so generous with her drool." 

Fuse snorts at that, touching below the stain and glancing over towards my dad’s boat, "should we tell Rolf?" 

"What? Why? Even I’m not dumb enough to get in the middle of one of my mom’s boat sabotage schemes." 

"Because he thinks you have his daughter and your mom walked off with her?" Fuse rarely talks to me like I’m stupid, even though I’m sure she must think it a good proportion of the time, so makes an impact. I pull her by her elbow to the side a bit, half behind a boulder that fakes some sort of privacy. Only a couple of people are still dealing with the boats, anyway. 

"What’s wrong?" 

"I just told you." She blinks fiercely and I’m struck with the thought she might be about to cry again. "Rolf thinks you have his daughter and you don’t." 

"Fuse,” I rub her shoulders, the fireproof leather barely softening from two and a half weeks of wear, “it’s fine, she’s with my mom. She’s fine." 

"Rolf won’t be,” she crosses her arms and makes a feeble attempt to shrug my hands off. I can’t see the shape of her through the vest, but her arms seem to rest in a slightly different place, not tucking in as far against her waist. 

“He’ll assume my Mom has her–”

“Why does he have to assume that?" She shakes her head, nostrils flaring with another unmistakably violent blink, like she’s at war with her own prickling eyes. "He’s tired and trying to keep things together and take care of a baby and do his job and he also has to keep tabs on when your family walks off with one of his kids?" 

"This isn’t about Rolf." I look around for anyone eavesdropping and reach for her elbow, pulling her with me a few steps up a shaded boar path into the woods. "This is something you’re worried about." 

"It is about Rolf,” she insists, chin stubborn but wobbling with the lie, “and I can just see Rolf coming off of your dad’s boat and looking around and his daughter isn’t where he left her and…” She sighs and sets her hand on her stomach, biting her lip and looking at her feet. 

“If you don’t want my family walking off with the baby, we’ll tell them not to." I lower my voice like I’m talking to a wild dragon and risk putting my hand on top of hers. "I promise. I don’t know how well it’ll sink in, but…” I weigh the concept and laugh, trying to lessen the tension. 

“So what’s the point in telling them?" She fixes sharp eyes on me, expecting an answer I don’t have. 

"I don’t know what to tell you,” I sigh, hand dropping from hers to hang limp at my side, all the exhaustion I was holding off seeping back into my bones, “I don’t think an official chief title would actually give me the jurisdiction to tell my mom what to do." 

"Or the intention." She quips, a little too quickly, her tongue sharp and purposeful, like a firework meant to glance off of the surface instead of a charge set down deep. The sparks burn bright and brief and I answer them before they’re done stinging. 

"Well with Rolf, the babies have a place where they live, so my family always knows where to drop them off later. I understand the difference now, thanks." 

She glares at me. I try to glare back but now I’m the one who feels like crying. 

"I’m sorry,” Fuse swallows hard and breaks eye contact, “I didn’t mean to say that. I’ve been…struggling with my self-control a little bit. And lying all the time, which I’m not good at." 

I’m either too tired to be angry or I wasn’t ever angry in the first place, just…cornered. How many walls can a room have? It’s not like I’m trapped between a rock and a hard place, it’s like I’m in a labyrinth with a catastrophic quaken and there’s still not a peaceful corner for a fucking crib. 

"It’s ok." I hold my arms out in a silent offer and she steps between them, forehead on my shoulder and arms around my back. "I’m man enough to admit that the idea of ordering my mom around scares me. I maybe don’t need to hear it, but…" 

"I hate lying to my dad, Eret, I hate it so much." She sniffs into my shirt but I don’t mention it, I let her have a still, shaking moment against my chest, feeling her muscles tense and clench as she tries to re-stabilize herself. "So I’ve just been avoiding him and I’ve never done that before. And I want to ask him how to deal with this and I can’t." She trails off, exhaling through her nose and pulling out of the hug. 

She looks about as miserable as I feel. We’ve never bickered like this before. We’ve disagreed, of course, but coming around to the same idea was less argument than it was assembling proof, and usually one of us would see the other’s side and come around before we even talked about it again. But this is emotional and it sucks and it’s the last thing she needs to be using her energy on. 

I put one hand under her chin, tilting her face up to me. 

"You could tell your dad, you know. I wouldn’t mind if you told him first." Especially because then I’d feel a little less guilty about telling Aurelia first without asking her, but we don’t need to add that into this right now. 

"He can’t keep a secret,” her smile is watery but fond and I get the feeling she’s been as homesick here without me as I’ve been on Elva’s island. 

“It’s down to just a few last trappers over there,” I nod to myself, “maybe I could start flying out and coming back a little more often." 

"You don’t have to,” she shakes her head, determined all of a sudden, and I kiss the frown off of her face. 

“Who said it’s for you? Rolf said he missed me today, basically, he invited me over to play with his kids. I bet he’s been crying himself to sleep while I’ve been gone, too proud to let anyone know. Stiff Hofferson upper lip and everything." 

Fuse laughs a small laugh, but it’s real, and she strokes the slightly overgrown hairs on my upper lip. It tickles and I stick my tongue out to push her hand away, and her finger tastes like soot and something sour where I swipe it. That gets another laugh and a disgusted expression as she wipes her hand on my sleeve. 

"Whenever I see Rolf I remember that his twins were born only a couple of days before I was asking him for a book,” she looks down at her stomach, “and he talked to me about it from a place of really knowing what I’d gotten myself into." 

"I contributed,” I insist, “it’s what we got ourselves into, thanks. What did he say to you exactly?” 

"You know Rolf,” she shrugs, starting up the path like she knows where it goes, “everything is going to change for the worst and nothing will ever be easy again." 

I snort at that, jogging to catch up, "I think that’s the best Rolf impression I’ve ever heard, Ingrid’s going to be pissed she’s been usurped as most accurate fake wet blanket of the family." 

00000

“Oh,” I pause in the chief’s doorway, frowning at the roasted mutton leg on the table and more importantly, the three people around it. Fuse is one of them. That’s welcome. But why is Tuffnut here? “This isn’t what I expected when you said you invited Fuse to dinner, chief.” 

“Hey kid,” Tuffnut waves and Fuse sighs in his general direction, picking at the edge of her portion of mutton and giving me ‘help me’ eyes. Or the Fuse version of ‘help me’ eyes which means I have no idea what she might have said before I got here. I sit down beside her and squeeze her arm, looking between Tuffnut and the chief.

“I just thought it would be fun.” He shrugs.

“I’m not sure where you got that idea,” Tuffnut shakes his head at him and I barely bite back a snort. “You wanted me to help lecture them, that’s never fun—”

“Tuff!” The chief sighs, rubbing his temple before reaching out to dish up a plate with frustrated, quick movements. “You don’t announce that part—”

“He told me on the way over,” Fuse sighs, taking a bite of her bread. Right, she and her dad don’t have secrets. 

“Right,” the chief rubs his hands together. “Of course he did.”

“What lecture is this?” I grab a plate, “the one about cutting my hair? Oh! I know, getting more sleep or killing fewer dragon trappers—”

“Why would he invite me to that one?” Tuffnut points at the chief with his thumb.

“Good point.” I tug the whole plate of mutton towards myself and the chief stares at me until I take my knife and cut off what he considers to be a more reasonable portion. “Not the ‘don’t blow up the enemy’ lecture either then—”

“Eret,” the chief cuts me off, “it’s not a lecture. I just thought that the four of us, as a group, should try and talk through—”

“He wants to ask you again why you’re not married yet,” Tuffnut rolls his eyes, kicking his foot up onto a spare chair. Fuse sighs, pursing her lips and taking another bite of her bread. I’m always impressed at how she can stay silent when I want to yell, the panicked bubble I can’t acknowledge here swelling against my ribs.

I wonder if I told the chief that Fuse is banking on some hidden determination to be chief’s wife and not Eret’s wife if the promotion would fall right into my lap. I know that’s not quite true, I don’t think I understand the truth, it’s one of those Fuse lines of logic that resolves itself more quickly than I can fully assess the problem, but I don’t know how to say it better. I don’t know how to bring it up without upsetting her either. Or myself, for that matter. 

“Because you haven’t married us,” Fuse directs the flat comment at the chief and it stings a little more than it should. Maybe that’s her problem, she’s a Berkian, she might want to be married by the chief, and she did ask who would do it without her dad present. Gods, I went in with the whole 'no feast’ idea right away, what if that’s what scared her off? “What?” The corner of her lip twitches when she looks at me, waiting for me to join in on the joke.

It doesn’t feel very funny, but I don’t want to let her down, so I swallow the knot in my throat and try. 

“No, she’s right, for us to be married, the chief of the tribe,” I point at him, “that would be you, of course, would have to conduct a marriage ceremony involving us.”

“I’m free now,” the chief calls my bluff, if it’s a bluff, and I sigh. Tuffnut’s here now, isn’t he? 

I miss avoiding marriage, kind of. Being angry is easier than being confused and wounded in a way I can’t explain. I can’t, so I stop trying, focusing on the conversation at hand. And I’ve missed joking with Fuse and the way she looks for my laugh when one of her sweetly flat footed little jabs makes contact. 

“I’m busy being lectured,” I shrug, playing along. 

“What a coincidence,” Fuse feigns surprise, trying for Aurelia’s easily authentic lie and falling just adorably short, her eyebrows still knit close above her nose, “me too.”

“No way,” I smile and let my voice dip slightly, resting my hand on her knee and leaning in a couple of inches, “we should cope together, what are you doing after this?”

Tuffnut snorts and the chief pounds his fist on the table to get our attention back.

Fuse mumbles, “I’m free, sounds good,” under her breath and I choke on my laugh, coughing under my breath and folding my hands on the table.

I don’t know what I’d do if Fuse was on the other side of this table. I know that she’s always looked at marriage with about as much interest as things too solid to blow sky high, but I always figured that was because of me. In a way, it’s probably better that I weighed the situation out before she did and concluded the obvious, because there’s no chance of her pushing me the way everyone else has. But we still aren’t in agreement and that makes this hard. I feel like I’m at the head of the table, again, managing everyone’s expectations without the authority to do so. Chief of the necessary wedding conversation, but I don’t get the title here, either. Or the house. 

“When I was your age,” the chief starts the way that all of his most boring, conflicted, and terrifying lectures start, “I didn’t want to get married either.”

“Me either,” Tuffnut agrees, “I didn’t know where you were going with that, Hiccup, but I surprisingly agree whole-heartedly.” He talks mostly to Fuse but gives me a glance that feels almost fatherly, “you two are really young, you have plenty of time to get married.“ Fuse looks down at the secret she can’t tell him. "I’m young, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me to enjoy having my own island. Plus, I kind of think it adds to the allure if I step onto it with a cane, so—”

“Tuffnut.” The chief glares at him and Tuffnut scoffs.

“What? You were the one who said you didn’t want to get married at their age.”

“That was only the beginning of what I wanted to say.”

“Why? I thought it was pretty succinct.” Tuffnut grins at Fuse like they’re in on some joke that I’m not and I wonder what they talked about on the way over. I wonder if Fuse worries about Tuffnut reading her mind the way I do about my Mom. I wish she were here, suddenly, to explain the difference between 'have to’ and 'want to’ and insist they can overlap. 

"Oh?" The chief’s jaw clenches, irritated, and I get the odd feeling that at this instant, we’re on the same side of a constantly shifting center. 

"Succinct means that you said everything you had to say in just a few words—”

“I know what it means, Tuff.”

“Then take a compliment, Hiccup, you deserve it.” He winks at Fuse and she looks down at her lap or more likely her stomach. It still seemed flat a few days ago, but yesterday it suddenly seemed rounder, like I blinked and missed another week. 

The chief doubles down on his serious expression, looking through me in the way that it’s impossible to ignore. I wouldn’t even say I want to ignore it.

Sometimes I wish I had the chief that everyone else does. I see him talk to villagers, I see him listen and understand. His advice to everyone else is solid, it’s nuanced, it’s careful. He even listens to Aurelia these days and tries to help her through things instead of brushing her off. But with me there’s only ever one answer. Get married. He cuts me down and blocks the exit until I say or do what he wants me to, and I hate to even think what he’d say if he thought I agreed with him and Fuse didn’t. I remember how easily he forgot her power, how he poked her with Elva’s engagement like she wasn’t a threat, and I hate how it feels like he used her, however unintentional. He treated her as an extension of me, and maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to be, at least in written record. Baby notwithstanding. 

I wish I could get actual Chief Hiccup advice. A small, scared part of me wishes I could get advice from the chief as a dad. Just in case I’m doomed to see it like he does. Just a heads up. 

“I had my reasons for not wanting to get married, and well—the biggest one was that my dad wouldn’t be there.”

“Wait, I’m lost,” Tuffnut shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it out, “why wouldn’t your dad be there? Oh! Right, sorry, I remember, it was because you were all little and two-footed and weird and he didn’t love you—”

“Really, Tuff?” The chief snaps for the first time, his voice cracking slightly.

“What? I’m just trying to—nope, wait, it was the dying thing—”

“Thanks for summing that up,” the chief sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and looking at me, “I don’t presume to know your reasons, Eret, but I want to help you figure them out before—”

“Before what?” Fuse cuts him off, cocking her head at its deadliest angle, “he marries a foreign princess?”

For the first time in my life, I’m a little disappointed that she cut him off. 

“That was a mistake,” the chief at least knows to be gentle with it and Fuse crosses her arms, settling a little more deeply into her seat like she’s giving him permission to keep talking. “This is my new method.”

“I think we should back up a couple of steps,” Tuffnut interjects, “you were onto something with them being so young. I was like thirty when I got married—”

“Your wife was Eret’s age,” the chief glares at him like he’s hoping it’ll start a fire on his shoulder.

“Yeah, but if she were any younger, it would have been weird.” Tuffnut argues. Fuse laughs to herself, that silent little bounce of her shoulders that happens when she doesn’t think I’d get a joke. She glances at me like she hopes I get it anyway and I love her and her weird, discerning sense of humor so much that it aches.

Gods, what if our baby ends up talking like her the way I talk like the chief? That’s both a stiflingly happy thought and kind of depressing, because I’d like my kid to think I’m funny. Fuse thinks I’m funny, just never when I’m trying to be, I guess.

“Ok, I get it, I went about this wrong. Again.” The chief looks at me and if he weren’t so determined to believe that I’m younger and dumber than I am, I’d almost think he could read the secret on my face. “Just—help me understand.”

“Have you ever considered not bringing it up at all?” I snort at my own suggestion. It will, in fact, bring itself up eventually. That’s a fact in this case. Maybe I’m doing that thing my parents do where they project my face onto the chief and give me the advice they wish they’d given him. I shouldn’t have brought up marriage, I should have let it sort itself out. It would have been a lot less confusing that way. 

“Yeah, Hiccup,” Tuffnut nods at me, weighing what I said, “that’s what I do and it works out great.”

“They aren’t married, Tuff, I don’t think your plan is working out—”

“What about our plan?” Fuse asks, irritated and expecting an answer for the question that the chief immediately takes as rhetorical. 

“What plan?” He rolls his eyes.

“She’s serious,” I look at Tuffnut for confirmation and he nods. I’m curious to hear it too, but the chief brushes her off and Fuse starts to stand up, leaning on the table and moving carefully, like she does when she’s loaded down with charges.

“Our plan has to fit in with yours somewhere and you haven’t asked us.” Fuse looks at me for backup and I try not to shrug. I want to, really, more than anything, but I wasn’t aware that we had a plan. She frowns when I don’t say anything and my heart drops. “Dad?”

“Yes,” Tuffnut stands up, pointing at the chief, “you know, every time you do this badly, I get one step closer to my deadly daughter helping me take Thorstonton by force.”

“Not going to do that, Dad, let’s go.” She grabs his arm on the way to the door and he stumbles after her.

“She says that now, but all I’ve got to do is put a princess on it and say she wants to marry Eret—” 

Fuse stops, nostrils flaring, top pocket of her vest smoking slightly around the seams. I stand up halfway, ready to pull it off of her, because oh Gods, she’s pregnant and carrying around explosives. And we don’t have a plan, let alone anything else that’s ours other than the baby so close to the spontaneous smoke of Fuse’s anger. 

“Sorry,” Tuffnut holds his hands up, “not funny, I get it, what a devastatingly cool way to tell me I’m not funny, with the smoke and the glaring and the imminent doom if you don’t get control of your emotions.”

My heart jolts into my throat just hearing that. 

“It’s a smokebomb,” Fuse takes the small smoking sphere out of her pocket and tosses it back onto the table, “no imminent doom.” She looks at me and shrugs one vaguely disinterested shoulder before shutting the door behind them and leaving the chief and I alone.

He groans, pushing the whole plate of mutton towards me and I pick at it, appetite dwindling. Apparently, Fuse already figured out that she shouldn’t carry deadly things in her current…condition. That must be miserable for her. None of this is supposed to be so miserable. 

“You know, this whole time I thought it was just your hangup,” he shakes his head at me and I take a big bite just to seem normal. I don’t feel normal at all and the food feels like sandpaper in my throat.

Fuse had to leave. I get it and I’m not mad, because this was a horrible idea and an awful conversation but it’s hitting me again that we don’t have a place to storm back to together and she’s not carrying dangerous things and we don’t have any time or place to talk about it. I don’t know what I look like right now, but the chief’s face drops into something dangerously like sympathy. 

“What hangup?" I snort, "I’m just young, haven’t you heard?" 

"I was young once too,” the chief smiles, a little too fond of me, and I get ready to shut him down from reliving his glory days while looking at my face, “and it didn’t look like whatever it is you’re doing." 

"Oh? What am I doing?" I mean to brush him off, but it comes out a little too calm. A little too honest. 

"Trying to make everyone happy,” he shakes his head at me, gray flecked brows knit together in that uncomfortably familiar frown, “everyone except me, of course. And yourself." 

I snort, "right, the only thing I could do to make you happy is get married, I get it. I know exactly where the bar is because I keep hitting my head on it." 

"That’s because you’re stubborn enough to keep running at it,” he sighs and lays his hands flat on the table, across from mine. They still look the same, different scars and calluses, but the same long fingers, built for detail, not juggling boulders. “I just want you to make new mistakes, Eret. I don’t want you to retrace mine." 

That makes me laugh. I’m not quite retracing his mistake, it’s kind of new. Fuse is twelve years younger than Mom was, for one, and she’s not married to someone else. 

"Like you said, I’m stubborn,” I push away from the table, grabbing a slice of bread to take with me, in case my appetite comes back, “I bet I manage some of both."


	13. Chapter 10.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup POV

Hiccup runs into Arvid in front of the house he’s been building with Astrid. 

“Hey Chief,” Hiccup’s step-son-in-law, step-son in-law, son-in-law and step-son–Arvid, that’s easier, is bigger and more self-assured every time Hiccup sees him away from Aurelia. He used to hide, slouching and frowning, hand moving towards the hilt of his sword like he needed to protect Aurelia from the very idea of disrespect, even at home, but now he’s relaxed, almost smiling, broad shoulders dusted with wood shavings as he points behind him, “Mom’s inside, Aurelia’s at the Thorstons.” 

He starts to walk away and Hiccup takes a couple jogging steps with him, weighing his options here. Arvid is close to Eret, probably closer than anyone other than Aurelia and Fuse. He might be more liable to answer the question at hand than Astrid is, but Hiccup isn’t stupid, he knows how much trouble he should be in for the failed betrothal turned almost war that happened out from under her watchful eye. 

Maybe Arvid knows why he’s not in trouble though. He doesn’t know why he feels like Arvid knows things, it’s not like he’s ever spilled secrets, it’s just a hunch. Maybe it’s something in those blue eyes that look so much like Astrid’s, sometimes even more than Eret’s because they’re never filled with that specified irritation with him that Astrid luckily abandoned years ago at this point. 

“Maybe I"m here to see you.” 

“Right,” Arvid smiles his dad’s quiet half smile. "What’s on your mind, chief?“ He has a face Hiccup could talk to and that makes him pause. He should talk to Astrid first. Straight lines, simple solutions, no more of this Haddock web of communication death song amber. 

"After I talk to your mom–”

He cuts Hiccup off with a laugh, “I’m not going to get pissy like Eret if you’re here to talk to my Mom, just don’t start the game where you get handsy in front of me, then we’d have a problem.” 

“We only do that to smoke him out of the house,” Hiccup laughs and Arvid nudges his arm with a beefy elbow. 

“Well, now I know what to do if you ever overstay your welcome at my place.” He waves and walks off before Hiccup can say anything else, but he feels like he told a secret anyway. 

Whatever. That’s not why he’s here. 

The front door of the half-finished house opens easily on smooth hinges and Hiccup looks around with a low-whistle, following the quiet pounding of a hammer. He’s unsure of the reasons behind her newfound interest in carpentry, but it’s also kind of a happy reminder that once he officially hands off the throne to Eret, he’ll also have time to find some new hobbies. Then again, that exchange has seemed so Thor-damned close for almost three years, but it’s like Eret’s more and more determined to stall. 

“Looks good,” he announces to the room at large and Astrid looks up with a grin, patting one of the uprights and standing. 

“About time you came and checked it out,” she kisses him, again illustrating the completely confusing fact that she’s not mad at him, but pulls away before he can get any concrete ideas about practicing smoking Eret out of this house. “Probably only a couple more days of work and we can get some furniture in here.”

“Is there a rush?” 

“Maybe,” she squeezes his shoulder and starts packing up tools, setting them in one of the neatly maintained bags that Smitelout loans things out in. "What’s up?“ 

"I talked with Tuffnut and Eret and Fuse today,” Hiccup starts, ducking away from Astrid’s immediate glare to count some leftover nails on a rough wooden stool. 

“I thought we agreed that you meddling in our son’s marriage prospects doesn’t end well.” 

“Technically, you told me that it doesn’t end well and ordered–no, well, it was more like a demand–”

“Hiccup.” 

“You demanded that I not do it again. Which I didn’t, to be clear, I just tried to foster a little bit of discussion about why they’re being so stubborn.” 

“How’d that work out?” Astrid crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow and looking at him positively unimpressed. 

“Horribly, I don’t know why I ever thought Tuffnut would be a viable ally in the conversation, but it was also illuminating.” He pauses for dramatic effect and to check Astrid’s expression. Expectant, a little bored, impressively uninterested given how talking about Eret getting married usually sends her into hand-wringing about Fuse. "This entire time we’ve been operating with the idea that Eret doesn’t want to get married, right?“ 

"I think the amount of times he’s announced to his married siblings that it’s an unnecessary complication in their lives gave us a clue to that, yes.” 

“Well, I don’t know what changed, but I’m pretty sure that it’s actually Fuse who doesn’t want to get married and Eret is covering for her somehow.” Hiccup waits for a startled reaction and gets an eyeroll and a fond, if a little demeaning pat on the chest. 

“Right, that makes a lot of sense, it’s great to be an unmarried twenty three year old openly committed to the son of the chief on this island. I’m sure she’s loving that pressure.” 

“Fuse isn’t you, Astrid.”

“Trust me, I know.” She shakes her head, lips quirking into a barely there shadow of a smile, like she’s not sure how to put a happy face on about Fuse but has new reason to. "I think twenty three year old me could have learned something from Fuse, frankly, I probably would have used an axe, but…“

"Well, for the record, it appears that I was way more determined to keep my head up my own ass than our son is.” 

“Why do you think this again?” 

“I saw his face.” Hiccup shrugs, “and he didn’t have any of his own reasons, he was just copying what everyone else said. He wasn’t taking the lead, he wasn’t making his own decision about it.” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. 

It’s hard. He’s almost been proud of Eret for putting his foot down about marriage. It’s confusing, because he has to watch his son do his best to mimic his greatest mistake…but at the same time, it’s the one thing Eret is digging in on in any real way. Hiccup never thought anyone could be too much like Astrid, that it could ever be a bad thing to have more Astrid in the world, but Thor’s beard, that kid is self-sacrificing beyond a fault. It’s a pathology, at this point, practically a disability, because when a people pleaser attempts to keep a bunch of Haddocks and other Vikings happy, it’s a threat to their life and limb. 

“Ok, but Hiccup,” Astrid sighs, taking both her husband’s shoulders in a firm, lecturing grip, even as her voice dips kindly, “as eccentric as the Thorstons are, they got married. They did the standard courting proposal negotiation marriage route, that’s what Fuse grew up with. She never saw an alternative.” She looks at Hiccup importantly, gently, sad in that confused way she doesn’t think she gets to be. 

Hiccup knows he can’t ask her to regret those years, but Gods, sometimes he wishes he could. 

“As much as we fear the kid turning into me, I don’t think he sees me as enough of a role model to mimic my life decisions.” He sighs, “it doesn’t matter, I guess, if you don’t believe me, but he changed his mind, it’s Fuse who isn’t on board.” 

“Well, that’s good news, if it’s true,” she looks around the half-finished house, nodding to herself, “I think everything is going to sort itself out.” 

“Yeah,” his smile is a little fake, a little pasted on, but if Astrid catches it, she doesn’t read anything into it. "I guess we just keep waiting.“ 

For what? Hiccup isn’t sure anymore. If Eret is just pretending to hate marriage to keep Fuse happy, then what he thought was Eret’s most solid stake in the ground is actually just a symptom of the larger problem. He wonders, not for the first time, what his dad would do about it, and the answer scares him. His dad would be thrilled with Eret, sure he’s stubborn and violent and a little lacking in confidence, but what twenty year old Viking isn’t at least two of those. By all metrics, he’s more ready to be chief than Hiccup was when he had the title dropped on him because of his dad’s own self-sacrifice. And maybe Hiccup is so worried about the next volcano that Eret might jump into that he’s not ready to open up the possibilities. It makes him wonder if he’s putting being a dad in front of being a chief.


	14. Chapter 11

“I have to show you something,” Fuse catches my elbow as I’m polishing Bang’s saddle in the sun in front of the barn. The last three round trip flights to Elva’s island have done a number on the leather and I limply toss my oily sponge at it as Fuse drags me to my feet and into the barn, where she steps into the corner and unclasps her vest. It always hits me how she looks pregnant now. Pregnant in the way I’ve always understood it, with a noticeable and round shape pressing against her shirt. It’s even stranger because it doesn’t seem to be effecting anything else, the rest of her looks the same. 

Well, her shirt is tight on her chest too, but I’m trying not to think of that, especially with the urgent expression on her face as she grabs my hand and presses it to her stomach with way more force than I would myself. 

“What am I looking at?” I ask after a second of taking in her frown, her snaggle tooth digging into her lower lip as her brows knit together.

“It’s not happening now,” she pulls her shirt up, revealing the pale skin of her stomach that I haven’t actually seen and pressing my hand even harder against it. It’s warm and more than a little surreal and I swallow hard, spreading my fingers slightly to take it in. "Thor-dammit,“ she swears, clenching her eyes shut and pulling her shirt back down, effectively pushing my hand off. 

"What’s wrong?” 

She’s ragged in that way I can’t quite get used to, breathing hard but even, nostrils flaring as she stills her shoulders and closes her eyes, exhaling purposefully before trying again. 

“Nothing is wrong,” she puts her own hand on her stomach and presses, shifting slightly and looking up like the answer is on the ceiling. "I felt it move.“ 

"You mean,” I look back down at her hand and blink, “the baby is moving?” 

She nods, impatient by Fuse standards, “I thought I was hungry, but that wasn’t right and then it moved down…” She trails off with a sigh, almost pouting, waiting for my reaction like it’s an answer to something. 

“That’s amazing,” I say, flat but honest, too overwhelmed for anything else. 

I haven’t brought up what we’re going to do with the baby when it’s born again. I don’t know how. And hearing that a baby is actually moving is thrilling and urgent and as much as I adore Fuse’s bluntness, I could have used a warning on this one. I sit down where I am, laying back in the hay and picking one of Stormfly’s scales out of it to fidget between my fingers. 

“I can’t make it happen again,” Fuse sits next to me, frustrated and tugging her vest back closed and nudging my leg with her boot. "Sorry.“ 

"Why are you sorry?” I lean up on my elbow and frown at her. 

“You’re leaving this afternoon,” she looks at my saddle, shiny and drying in the sun. 

“Yeah, but just for a couple of days.” I don’t know how to comfort her. I can tell that she needs it, and there’s that increasingly common feeling that she doesn’t want me to. I’m scared that I get it, that it’s the kind of display of strength shattered by a hug and I sit up, bumping my shoulder against hers. "I hate to say it, but maybe they just got my stubborn streak.“ 

"I’m counting on it,” her lips twitch, almost a smile, and I sneak a hand under her vest as I kiss her on the temple. "There!“ She yelps, louder than she ever is, grabbing my hand and sliding it to the side of her stomach. I don’t feel anything, but she looks so hopeful, so I kiss the tip of her nose like it’ll distract her. 

And there’s a flutter. A twitch of her skin, not intentional but definitely not random, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head. Fuse grins and nods, pressing my hand harder to her shirt. 

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to leave less and it must show on my face, because Smitelout almost looks like she’s pitying me instead of pissed at me when I lean on the forge counter and ask about the scrap I promised to fly out along with a few old tools she said she’d part with. 

"I’m not even going to ask, I’m worried you’d tell me, and I do not need to keep another secret for you.” 

“Another?” I cock my head and she points at me with the hammer that so recently left a dent in my chest. 

“Do you need something, Twerp?” 

“You know, the more you say that while threatening me, the more it starts to sound like an endearment.” I half expect her to whack me with the hammer but she sets it down, scowling at me and hefting a crate onto the counter. "Really, do you call anyone else Twerp? It’s kind of our special thing, I should have a nickname for you.“ 

Maybe I am trying to get her to hit me a little bit. Then I’d have an excuse to stay that no one could read anything into, not even Fuse. It’s not that I don’t think she can handle things on her own, it’s that I hate that she has to. And I hate that this is the first time I don’t know how to talk to her about something, and I should take the time away to think about it, but my fingers are still tingling with that little flutter. 

"If you even think about calling me Big Nugget,” she shakes her head like even she can’t verbally illustrate what she’d do to me if I adapted my nickname for Finn to include her. 

“Oh, I’m thinking about it,” I take the crate, sifting lazily through it for a second, pretending like I’m counting what’s in it. I don’t know. I’ve lost count of everything I’ve signed and delegated and asked for in the last weeks of flying back and forth. I never thought flying could become boring but even Bang seems to be getting sick of this. 

“If you’re going to show up at the forge to irritate me, at least commit,” she flicks my forehead harder than is explicitly necessary and I glare at her with as much as I can put behind it, which admittedly, isn’t much. "How’s Thorston?“ 

"She’s fine.” I half lie, which is convenient because I think Smitelout half cares. No, that’s not quite fair, she actually looks kind of worried about Fuse, which doesn’t make much sense given all she has to go off of is me moping all over her. "Really, she’s good, I’m just–“

"An indecisive hotshot who spends too much time yammering?” She shoves at the crate. "Are you about done helping out over there? Aurelia’s head is getting so big keeping your shit together here I’m worried she’s about to tip over.“ 

"Trust me, her head has been bigger and she handled it fine.” It’s like every conversation with Smitelout. Frustrating, insulting, a bit of a slap in the face, but this time maybe it’s a good thing. 

It’s normal enough that I manage to leave and deliver what I have to deliver and give the orders I have to give. And that leads to following a tip about a trapper ship nearby and chasing it down towards the mainland until I lose it in a bog just north of the mainland. I’m not even sure at this point that it was a trapper ship, maybe they just ran when they saw a dragon chasing them, or maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better about losing them. Either way, I’m glad to o home on my own schedule afterwards. 

It’s unusually hot by the time I see Berk on the horizon and I press myself flatter to Bang’s back, flinching as he dips into the waves, stinging my hands and face with sharp, frigid droplets. It’s better than the boat, that’s for sure, and the six hour trip is worth it to get a break mid-week, even if I’m going to have to head back. We’re close, we’re so close, there can’t be more than a couple trappers left on the island from the way their communication is slowing down and once I’ve rooted them out, I can call this a diplomatic success and be on island full time.

And if I actually see Fuse daily, convincing her that it’s about time to do something about where we plan to put our baby once it’s born might be easier. I know that a lot of it is hormonal, or something, and if it’s anything like being stressed and sixteen, she’s still handling it really well but…every time I think of feeling that delicate flutter under the stretched taut skin of her stomach, I get dizzy with both irrational pride and deep anxiety about everything. I keep coming back to the fact that the chief didn’t make a home for me and my dad did and look at where it got the three of us. And thanks to Aurelia’s constant, not so gentle reminders that the baby in there is going to be an heir and how complicated that is when the heir’s parents aren’t married, the worry is two-fold.

I almost told her before I left this time that I’m not the one balking anymore. Not that I’m rushing to the altar, but I’m recognizing the necessity with each slow passing day and every morning I wake up alone, on Berk or not. Every time I see Fuse and notice that she’s different, that I’ve missed another change, that another thin pink line has worn its way into her belly while I wasn’t looking, it becomes less about the chief or winning.

But I didn’t tell her because I know what it’s like to be nagged about this, I know what it’s like to be pushed and pulled and shoved and Fuse is already getting enough of that from the inside. Literally. I just have to get her to talk to me about it and whatever her issue is, I’ll fix it. Or I’ll try to.

No, I’ll fix it. I have to.

Gods, I’m really sounding like the chief now, forcing solutions on problems I don’t understand yet.

That thought doesn’t put me in the best mood as I guide Bang down to the dock, swinging off with a sloppy splash and wringing sea water out of my shirt. No one is expecting me, so it’s quiet, and I really should have just flown straight home, but docking has become kind of a habit, I guess. I’d get back on Bang, but my knees are trembling and wobbly from six hours crouched low for speed and his wings look tired anyway as he helps himself to a barrel of sardines that appears to have broken open while being unloaded. I pat his head and he shoulders me out of the way slightly.

“Right, bud, I totally want that pile of fish that’s been rotting in the sun for hours.” I roll my eyes even as my stomach growls, not as ironically as I’d like to think. I left before breakfast this morning and I’m regretting that now as I edge away from the stench that my body apparently considers good enough to eat. “I’ll leave you to it, see you at home.”

He waves me off with a shiny blue wing and I nudge his tail with my toe in parting.

A blonde blur almost takes me out at the trailhead, a shoulder smacking mine like a war hammer before the unidentified assailant skids to a stop on their heels, catching my shoulders and shouting an apology in my face, out of breath.

“Squirt!” Ingrid hugs me, too tight, metal fingers digging into my back as my face is pressed into her messy braid. It smells like pine sap and grass and metal and I don’t expect the wave of homesickness that almost beats out hunger for the bulk of my attention as I hug her back. “I wasn’t expecting you back for a few more days.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t take roughing it anymore, I had to come have a night in my own bed.” I let her go and stretch, dramatically rubbing my back.

The unexpected benefit of the situation is that my lying skills are really reaching a new level. I’m downright pleased with myself until Ingrid narrows her eyes at me, hand on her hip.

“Right, your bed, not Fuse’s?”

“What can I say? I’m twenty-one.” My laugh is hollow even to my own ears but I shrug, my embarrassed grin not entirely fake. Aurelia always says that the best lies are mostly truth and I won’t deny the fact that Fuse avoiding talking to me has its benefits.

“You sure are,” she says mysteriously, shaking her head and looking over my shoulder. “You haven’t seen Fuse, have you?”

“No, why?”

“I was supposed to meet her here, Smitelout told me she needs help setting off some explosion or something.”

“What?” I try to hide my flash of panic. I know Fuse thinks she’s fine, but just like I hated the flammable fabric of her ancient vest so close to her belly, I hate the idea of her lighting anything off right now. I know she said she had to in order to keep the chief from getting suspicious. I know it makes sense. I just wish she’d let me do it, which of course, doesn’t work because I’m not here, and that entire panic cycle starts again, like a rough edge gnawing at the back of my mind. “I’ll help find her. Hel, I can go with her, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You know what makes a big sister worry?” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and starts guiding me up the hill. My stomach growls audibly and I snort.

“Her little brother starving to death because he skipped breakfast?”

“I already have one toddler to keep alive,” she flicks me on the arm, “don’t make it two. And to answer my original question, it makes me worry when you tell me not to worry.”

“I think that’s a mom thing, not necessarily a big sister thing,” I brush her arm off, “you should probably sort that out before you start shoving a spoon in my mouth while saying ‘here comes the night fury, open up the cave’.”

Holy Thor, in a year or two, I’ll be feeding a baby. Maybe, if I live with the baby. I imagine a two year old that babbles like Finn does but looks like Fuse, all messy pink hair and chubby fingers. That panicked thrill surges through me again and my hands sweat, suddenly clammy.

“Hmm, right, I’m supposed to sort that out.” She shakes her head at me and knocks half metal knuckles against my shoulder, hard enough that I stumble to the side. “Baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, hungry and tired and on edge. And thinking of babies in the classic sense, not the sense that my arms aren’t made of literal granite so Ingrid’s punches hurt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She hooks her arm through mine, brushing off my irritation and I sigh.

I do.

I really do. Ingrid might understand better than anyone, given her situation, unmarried and happy with Smitelout and Finn. If only I were a girl, I’m sure Snotlout wouldn’t mind another illegitimate family under his roof even if just to claim another grandchild to piss off the chief. But I guess if I were a girl, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

And that hurts too, with a keening protectiveness I’m not used to. I haven’t seen this baby, I’ve only felt it flutter under my hand through the skin of Fuse’s stomach and even the idea of it not existing anymore is sharp and painful.

“I’m just tired and hungry.” Another good lie, close to the truth. The 'just’ is the only thing off about it.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

If only Ingrid could keep a secret. I don’t think she’s kept one since the day I learned about the chief and she could let sixteen years of silence off of her chest.

Hotgut sees me before Fuse does, running ahead of her like a baby terror and nearly headbutting me in the stomach in enthusiastic greeting. Ingrid lets go of my arm and pats Hotgut on the head, approaching Fuse with straight shouldered body language like she thinks Fuse is going to try and escape.

“Hey girl, yes, I missed you too,” I scratch Hotgut on the shoulder, right in front of her saddle where she likes it, hoping it’ll be enough to slip around her without argument. I’m almost right, she doesn’t argue much, and Fuse is just looking up from a wrinkled piece of paper when I extricate myself from her dragon. She looks between Ingrid and I, blinking at me for a second before cocking her head.

“You weren’t supposed to be home for a few days.” She tries to hide a heavy looking sack of explosives halfway behind her knees.

“Couldn’t wait,” I take the strap from her shoulder, setting it gingerly on the ground before hugging her. The dome of her stomach presses into mine and I can’t squeeze, because that might deflate the pockets that are hiding it, and Ingrid’s eyes boring into the side of my head are torturous. Fuse seems to think the same thing because she kisses me, warm and fast, clearly irritated by the distance as her tongue licks briefly into my mouth before she pulls away.

“Great,” Ingrid claps her hands with that distinctive hum of vibrating metal, scooping up Fuse’s bag with a bounce that makes it smoke out of one end. Fuse flinches, hand outstretched towards it, “you two need to catch up and something needs exploded, I’ve got it. Where am I going?”

“You should put that down,” Fuse cautions, direct and more than a little irritated when Ingrid drops the bag. “Gently.”

“Shit, yeah,” Ingrid steps away from the bag as it belches green smoke and hisses quietly for a second.

“I can do it,” I step up to take the bag but Fuse grabs my hand, grip a little too tight. “What? I don’t mind, Fuse. I’m assuming it’s important if you’re doing it alone instead of waiting for me to get back.” It’s not really an edge in my voice. Or maybe it is, but it’s sheathed, because I don’t want to be mad, I don’t want to aim my frustration with the situation at her because I know how hard it is to redirect.

“She’s not doing it alone,” Ingrid interjects, “she’s doing it with me, that’s why I was looking for her.”

“You were looking for me?” Fuse frowns at Ingrid, still cutting off circulation from my fingers.

“She didn’t know you were looking for her?” I narrow my eyes at Ingrid, who tends to lie by looking threatening, the way she’s doing right now, arms flexing in the sun.

“No, I didn’t,” Fuse answers me, oblivious to Ingrid’s posture.

“What’s going on here?” I look mostly at Ingrid but glance at Fuse, who looks equal parts irritated at being caught with a bag full of bombs and irritated that we can’t have this conversation in private. I agree on the second point, but Ingrid is obviously up to something and while I can’t say I fear another coup, my siblings scheming behind my back usually doesn’t end up with me particularly comfortable or unembarrassed.

“I’m just trying to help.” Ingrid dares me to argue with her and Fuse’s eyes widen.

“She knows.”

“Knows what?” I look at the bombs that Ingrid most definitely knows nothing about.

“Yeah, what do I know?” Ingrid’s voice is artificially high and clear, like Mom’s when I got too close to the hidden Snoggletog presents.

Her eyes flick to Fuse’s stomach.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pulling Fuse reflexively into my side and wrapping an arm around her lower back. “Who told you?”

I’m hoping she says Aurelia. If she says Aurelia, this is only one degree removed and I know I can at least get an explanation for it. Maybe even a reason.

“No one told me,” she lies again, worse, chewing on her pinky nail and avoiding my gaze. She doesn’t have her axe or I bet she’d be messing with it by now, trying to distract me. “I’m a mom, I know these things.”

“Oh yeah? Please tell me the shared symptoms of pregnancy and 'about to kidnap a baby’ syndrome.” I hit a nerve I probably should have stayed away from.

“Very funny, but you really have to stop saying that before Finn can understand you–”

“Right, like I’m following in the hallowed Hofferson footsteps of not telling a kid who their parents are–”

“No, I guess not. You’re just having heirs out of wedlock like a Haddock.” Ingrid spits, and she’s angry at me so little that I don’t expect the sting of it. She seems to realize her mistake immediately and fumbles for an axe that isn’t there to distract herself from it. I haven’t heard Haddock said like that in years, probably since I said it the same way myself.

I look at Fuse and her lip is held tight like it’s threatening to tremble and I pull her closer, ignoring the way her new vest wrinkles and draws attention to the curve of her belly. It’s not like we had long to hide that anyway. Fuck.

I don’t know if I feel lighter because Ingrid knows or because she called out the same family similarity that’s been weighing on me. Even I can acknowledge that it’s a little fucked up to feel better for being compared to the chief’s arguably most public mistake, but now I know I’m not the only one who sees it. Maybe Fuse sees it.

“Smitelout told me,” Ingrid confesses a second later, eyes downcast, “Aurelia told her.”

“Well, sounds like we need to talk to Smitelout and Aurelia.” I nod, and weirdly, this isn’t so different than tracing dragon trapper communication. If anything, it’s easier because I know where everyone lives.

Fuse and I don’t talk on the short flight over to Arvid and Aurelia’s house. Ingrid promised to get Smitelout and meet us there and I don’t stop Fuse from taking an extra short lap over the island, her breathing slow and steady against my chest. She doesn’t bat my hand away when I set it on her belly, hoping for one of those little flutters through the leather even though I don’t think that’s possible. I rest my cheek against Fuse’s shoulder, looking out at the clouds and trying to prepare myself for what’s about to happen.

Fuse will be mad that I told Aurelia. I’m ok with that, or not ok, but I understand it. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone and I did it anyway. Later, I get to be mad about her blowing things up when she said she wouldn’t, so I figure those two are about equal and from the way she tried to hide the bombs, however half-heartedly, I don’t think she’s going to argue with me about it.

I’m mad that Aurelia told Smitelout, but I’m sure she’ll have a reason. I’m more mad that Smitelout told Ingrid, and that might lead to yelling, which I don’t want to do around Fuse right now, so I can deal with that later. Mostly, we have to contain the leak, at least until I can talk to Fuse about how that’s getting increasingly impossible.

She’s big enough that getting off of Hotgut seems difficult and I reach up without thinking about it, hands on her thickened waist to lift her down. She lets me, a little embarrassed with her hands on my shoulders and I set her down gently, smoothing her vest to hide the bump as best as I can.

“You told Aurelia.” It’s not a question but the 'why’ is in her tone and I shrug, pulling her into a real hug without caring about her bump showing. She sighs into my shoulder and wraps her arms around my back, squeezing for a second.

“I was leaving, if something happened I wanted someone to know.”

“That makes sense,” Fuse agrees even though she doesn’t necessarily sound happy about it. “You should have let me know you told her. I lied a lot.”

“You’re right,” I see Smitelout and Ingrid arguing at the base of the hill and pull out of the hug, staring down into Fuse’s searching face. I’m not mad about the bombs. I’m irritated. At myself, mostly, for being gone and not being able to help her. A little at her. “Let’s do this, then.”

I knock on the door and jump back when my dad answers it, hastily shoving Fuse behind me and wincing when she adjusts her vest.

“Dad!” I hug him as a distraction, a lie to myself that’s not quite close enough to the truth that I’ve missed him, and he thumps me on the back.

“I thought I’d miss you again,” he holds my shoulders, looking at me like it’s been so long that he has to re-memorize my face. I’m feeling the same, in a way. I’m always shocked by the gray at his hairline. In my mind it’s just a few hairs but in reality, it’s probably half of the strands, and there’s a new solitary white hair in his eyebrow. He’s tan though, and smiling, and I almost blurt out the truth for what feels like the hundredth time. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet, right?”

“Couldn’t stay away,” I shrug. He hugs me again and Fuse shuffles past inside just as Smitelout and Ingrid make it to the top of the hill.

“Dad!” Ingrid joins into the group hug like we didn’t just fight and I swallow the childish urge to tug on her braid. “You didn’t tell me you were back!”

“I figured Snotlout would have told you, I’m going over to see him and Finn now.”

“I see how it is,” Ingrid rolls her eyes as I step out of the hug. Dad greets Smitelout with a pat on the shoulder and glances back at me.

“We’ll talk later, before you leave again?”

“Yeah, sure,” I look cautiously at Ingrid, waiting until she makes eye contact to continue, “grandpa time comes before your beloved son and daughter, I understand.”

She accepts the Hofferson apology with a nod and lets Smitelout walk past her through the door.

“He’s growing every day, you two aren’t that exciting anymore,” Dad jokes. Ingrid goes inside so that her face doesn’t reveal anything and I laugh, waving my hand dismissively.

“You know me, Eret the Boring.”

“Anything but,” he points at me, “catch me up later, alright?”

“Will do,” I lie through gritted teeth but Dad is either busy enough not to care or I actually am getting better at lying. Ingrid did know the truth earlier so technically, her reading my mind was kind of cheating.

When I do get inside, everyone is tensely fake relaxing, expressions neutral, and I don’t know how we ever got away with anything. Ingrid is in Dad’s old chair and Smitelout is on the floor between her knees while Ingrid winds a lock of black hair around her metal fingers again and again. Aurelia offers me some tea and Arvid snorts, handing Fuse a steaming mug and sitting down next to her on the hearth.

“I’ve gathered you all here today to surprise you,” I start, because maybe the hunger and exhaustion and general irritation of the day has me feeling a little dramatic, “guess what? Fuse is pregnant.”

“What?” Arvid stands up, looking between Fuse and I with astonishment that looks real. “Can I say congratulations?” He holds out his hand and I take it, looking at Aurelia and trying to make sense of her expression.

“Wait, did you actually not know?” He lets go of my hand and helps Fuse up, giving her a miniature version of his usual bear hug where her feet don’t quite leave the floor.

“He knew,” Aurelia rolls her eyes and Arvid lets go of Fuse, turning back to me with a one shouldered shrug. Aurelia backhands him in the chest, “he guessed it before you told me.”

“You knew?” Ingrid scowls at him, tugging a little too hard on Smitelout’s hair and making her wince. “Everyone here knew before me?”

“And you see why? It lasted less than an hour after I told you,” Smitelout smacks Ingrid’s hand away, scratching her scalp.

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Yeah, right, and I was giving your axe a full detail because I felt so bad for keeping a secret–”

“She didn’t tell me,” Fuse cuts off the fight, oddly calm energy that I haven’t felt since she bombed Elva’s island settling over the room. Maybe she feels better about the truth being out too, at least to people we trust.

“See?” Ingrid sticks her tongue out at Smitelout who glowers at the floor, still rubbing her head. “Does anyone else know?”

“Rolf.” Fuse starts unfastening her vest, stepping away from the fire and pulling her hair over her shoulder.

“Rolf.” Ingrid repeats, vengeance clear in her tone.

“I told Smitelout because I wanted to delay some shells being done until you got home, Eret,” Aurelia winces slightly, and I have to give it to her, it’s a more practical reason than I was expecting. “And someone wouldn’t just take my word for it.” She glares at Smitelout who rolls her eyes.

“Once I knew it was an actual reason and not just another Haddock thinking they can run a forge, I did it.” Haddock as an insult stings me again, strangely, and I don’t know when I got comfortable enough with it to care.

Maybe when I started thinking about sharing it with Fuse.

“So, it stays in this room,” Fuse nods, speaking quietly but firmly, fanning herself with one hand and shrugging the rest of the way out of her vest. The effect is immediate, Ingrid’s eyes widening and Arvid raising his eyebrows.

“Not for long, Thorston,” Smitelout snorts, flinching when Ingrid tugs on her hair again to shut her up.

“There’s time,” Fuse says calmly, tugging her shirt down like that makes it less obvious, and Aurelia meets my eye before talking.

“It kills me to say it, but Smitelout has a point, Fuse. How much longer are you going to be able to hide it?”

“Seriously, how pregnant are you?” Ingrid looks particularly stunned at Fuse’s belly and I’m both proud of the vest I made to hide it and strangely embarrassed that everyone is staring at it. Before now it felt private, like something just between us, and now I’m keenly aware that everyone here knows exactly how it happened. It feels a little like being caught in the act.

“I’m pregnant,” Fuse frowns and I’d laugh if this weren’t such an awful time to joke, “I don’t think there different degrees of pregnant.”

“She means how long have you been pregnant,” Aurelia corrects gently and I don’t think anyone but me picked up on Fuse deliberately dodging the question.

“Five months.” Even Fuse can’t make that sound casual and I put my hand on her lower back, almost flinching at how tight the muscles are.

“Are you sure?” Ingrid cocks her head, standing up and walking over to us with a critical gaze that looks so much like dad’s I’m sure he must be figuring it out at the same time, halfway across the island.

“More or less.” Fuse leans into me, away from Ingrid’s inspection.

“You’re awfully big for five months,” Ingrid cuts off my barely bitten back comment as to who died and made her mid-wife with an urgent, serious stare, “do you remember Rolf’s wife this time last year.”

“She was pregnant,” I shrug and Aurelia’s mouth drops open.

“With twins.”

Ingrid turns to Aurelia, pointing at Fuse’s stomach, “and am I crazy or did she look this big at five months?”

“Twins?” I blurt out, feeling a little dizzy and holding tighter to Fuse’s hip.

Twins. Everything I’ve imagined in the last couple of months doubled. Two little girls with pink hair and blue eyes. Two babies curled up against Bang’s tail. That much more Fuse in the world.

“I think he’s going to pass out,” Arvid steps carefully towards me, ready to catch me if my knees give out and I wave him off, exhaling carefully.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re white as a thunderdrum’s belly,” Smitelout points out with some amusement and I can’t bring myself to glare at her.

“Three Fuses.” I mean to say it to myself but it comes out in a whisper and everyone pauses.

“What was that?” Fuse cocks her head at me, hand rising to my shoulder like she thinks I need steadying too.

“I–Three Fuses,” my face flushes hot and I scratch the back of my neck, wishing again that I could make the audience disappear, “ever since you told me, I’ve been thinking how lucky I’ll be to have two of you and now it might be three. I–”

“That’s not how it works, Twerp,” Smitelout can’t handle not being the center of attention and she snickers at me, “they’ll have at least part of your ugly mug.” Ingrid punches her, from the sound of it, but I can’t make myself look away from the happy, conflicted expression on Fuse’s face. She runs her fingers through my beard, across my jaw.

“I’m hoping at least half of it,” she smiles, corner of her lip twitching slightly. The kind of private smile that’s only meant for me. My heart swells in my chest and I kiss her forehead, trying to figure out the quickest way to talk our way out of this unfortunate little meeting.

“We can talk about that,” I nod, “I might be willing to compromise on minor features like eyebrows, since they’re your kids and will be burned off half the time anyway,” that gets a laugh from her and my smile splits so wide my cheeks start to hurt almost immediately, “but I’m not budging that much. I want my three Fuses.”

“I could go on about how you call us disgustingly sappy,” Aurelia cuts in with a badly hidden smile, “but I think it’s more important for me to tell you that twins are born early, more often than not.”

“That’s true,” Ingrid nods along with her, “and I’m sure I don’t need to mention again that they would be heirs–”

“You don’t,” Fuse snaps at her, squeezing my hand protectively, like she feels the need to take care of me. That’s both sweet and makes me feel incomprehensibly guilty, because she’s pregnant with twins and I need to be the one taking care of her.

“It’s ok,” I mutter to her, “I know. I’m working on it.” I look at her again and tell the lie I don’t want to tell but the one that protects her from this group of lovely, nosy, pushy, intrusive people from giving her this stressful lecture, “and by it I mean my crippling, Haddock marriage-aversion. I just can’t shake how boring and normal I’d be if I were married. What if I’m not the center of all your concern anymore?”

Aurelia narrows her eyes and the gaze I’m expecting to fall on me lands on Fuse instead before she looks back at me, suddenly sympathetic. I see what Fuse saw now, on the way up here. I see the moment of realization in Aurelia’s eyes, I feel the hollow, slippery stutter of being caught in a lie by someone who I can trust to not let it go. I shrug, one shoulder barely moving, and only Aurelia catches it because everyone else is so busy rolling their eyes. I am getting better at lying. And right now, when I could use a hug instead of the mindless, repetitive lecture that starts back up again, I’m not sure it’s such a good thing.


	15. Chapter 11.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid POV (Smingrid so...)

Ingrid smiles to herself when she sees Smitelout sneaking around the corner, or tries to at least, looking both ways like she thinks she’s being followed. Ingrid lets loose her axe, watching it stick surely in the tree she’s decided to brutalize on this fine, summer morning, and turns to face her girlfriend, hip cocked.

“I could hear you coming from the top of the hill, what’s with the secrecy?”

“I have an answer to that question,” Smitelout scowls, hurrying the last few steps and setting an honestly serious hand in Ingrid’s shoulder.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Ingrid squeezes Smitelout’s arm, looking at her axe in a silent offer to go get it. Smitelout’s frown deepens and she sighs, weighing Ingrid’s expression. “Really, you’re worrying me.”

“Everyone on this thor-damned island is worrying me,” she huffs, shaking her head. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it, Ingrid, this is an actual secret–”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Ingrid doesn’t know where she got this reputation for being such a gossip, but it’s not true. She can keep a secret, she doesn’t know how everyone keeps forgetting that she kept Eret’s paternity a secret for sixteen years and she tells Smitelout as much, as indignant as she is worried.

“Well good, because it’s all about Chief Twerpling–”

“The nickname has a lot less impact when he doesn’t hear it, you know.” Ingrid rolls her eyes, prodding Smitelout’s upper arm with a metal finger. “The point please? Especially if it’s about my brother.”

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?”

Ingrid shoves her, not hard, catching her shoulder before she can dramatically stumble backwards. Smitelout sighs through gritted teeth and brushes Ingrid’s hand off of her shoulder, puffing up slightly with that unfortunately adorable air of superiority.

“This is getting out of hand, the twerp just needs to deal with his own shit and fuck! Fuck. Ok,” she looks seriously at Ingrid, blue eyes catching the light and making her expression more somber. Oh no. What if something is really wrong with Eret? What if he’s in trouble? What if no one told her because the chief doesn’t like how she overreacts, whatever that means? “So, you need to go blow something up for Fuse.”

“What?” Ingrid isn’t quite prepared for the bright flame of anger in her chest at the suggestion after Smitelout spent so much dramatic time getting her all worried. “Why would I need to do that? Last time I checked, Fuse is not only capable of blowing things up on her own, but she’s pretty thrilled to do it.”

“That’s the problem,” Smitelout wrings her hands together, “she likes blowing things up a little too much–”

“I’d agree with that, given the state of Elva’s island.” Ingrid is rapidly losing her patience with this, her muscles cooling and stiffening from an abruptly cutoff workout for seemingly no good reason. Smitelout’s lucky she’s cute, honestly, it’s about the only thing keeping her here posturing instead of getting back to her business. Snotlout said he’d watch Finn for the morning because Smitelout had to work, but if Ingrid is gone too much longer, she’s going to get home to her son chanting ‘oi oi oi’ again or something. “Look, I don’t really have time for this, right now. And aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Yes, and that’s where I was when Aurelia came up asking me to stop Fuse from blasting up some cliff or some shit while she’s pregnant!” Smitelout snaps, cheeks flaring bright red and it takes a second for Ingrid to actually comprehend what she said.

Ingrid’s mouth falls open and she smacks Smitelout’s shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“You didn’t tell me that you knew that Fuse is pregnant! How long have you known?” Ingrid thinks back and scowls deeper, “and you said Aurelia knew? She didn’t tell me either? I’m going to–”

“We’re trying to keep it quiet, ok,” Smitelout remembers to whisper, checking over her shoulder again in case someone heard her outburst, “Eret told Aurelia to keep an eye on her and Aurelia had to let me in on it a couple weeks ago.” She has the good sense to look guilty and Ingrid smacks her shoulder again. “I don’t know if Aurelia told Arvid, honestly–”

“Well, I’m not Arvid, he’s ok with all the diplomatic secret keeping. I’m not.”

“I know,” Smitelout rubs her forehead, tucking an ashy piece of hair behind her ear. “But I’m telling you now and you need to go head her off and go blow up the cliff or whatever because breathing that shit can’t be good for a baby.”

“You’re guilting me by reminding me there’s a baby involved,” Ingrid narrows her eyes.

“Your niece or nephew even, and Fuse is breathing all that caustic powder she has and you know explosions make those shockwaves–”

“It’s working,” Ingrid nearly growls, stalking over to the tree and wrenching her axe out of it, “fine, I’ll go do the thing, do you know where she is?”

“She was heading down to the docks last time Aurelia saw her,” Smitelout catches Ingrid’s arm before she can jog off in that direction, “and you can’t let her know that you know, so just…sound really excited about it. Or something.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ingrid pats Smitelout’s hand until she lets go, feeling a little awkward. It’s sweet, in a way, that Smitelout wants to help Fuse so much. She knows they’ve gotten a lot closer in the last year but…well, when it comes down to it, Eret will be Ingrid’s priority, and she’s not sure how keeping this secret can be good for him. He knows enough about heirs out of wedlock from the other side and someone should remind him of that, Fuse’s secret or not. “But I’m going to talk to Eret about it. Not today, but…”

“Fine.” Smitelout rolls her eyes, “I saw that coming, of course you want to do the right thing and be the good big sister. I get it. Well, I don’t, but I know you.”

“Enough to know that you’re still in trouble for lying to me?” Ingrid raises an eyebrow and Smitelout flushes, too stubborn to just be guilty.

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you, it’s not the same thing.” Smitelout holds her hand out for Ingrid’s axe, “I’ll polish it for you, the handle looks like shit and you gouged the blade again, I keep telling you–”

Ingrid cuts her off with a quick kiss, setting the axe in her hand and brushing another sooty lock behind her ear.

“You’re an idiot, I’ll see you at home.” She starts jogging up the hill, scanning the horizon for a purple gronckle and missing this morning when she thought things were getting too quiet again.


	16. Chapter 12

I have to give Aurelia at least a bit of credit because when she finds me the next day as I’m packing up to head back out, she brings food. Good food, and a lot of it, and she barely even teases me when I cram the first tart into my mouth almost whole, catching the crumbs that fall out in my palm and licking them up.

“You know, if you chew, the rest of it will wait for you.”

“I can’t be sure,” I take another tart and bite off a more reasonable amount. Or if not reasonable, at least I can talk through it, kind of. “It might see the massacre and make a run for it.”

“I bought the already dead tarts,” she looks levelly at me and sets a knife from the chief’s table into my bag, patting it pensively. “Can I walk you out?”

I want to ask her what I did to get the friendly interrogation, but I already know. Maybe that means I should ask anyway, so that she has to say it out loud and I don’t have to. Maybe it’d be easier to get through this if it’s an accusation and not another secret I’m spilling to her when I shouldn’t be.

“What? Do you have something to talk to me about?”

“No, I just want to watch you eat more, it reminds me that Arvid’s not quite the rabid wolf you are and I should be grateful,” she scoffs at me, “of course I’m here to talk to you. Are you really so strung out that you don’t remember yesterday?” She looks around, ear tilted up slightly like Stoick might be creeping around upstairs to listen in.

“No one’s home.”

“You’re covering for Fuse,” she drops the basket of pastries on the table and jabs me in the chest with a pointy finger.

“I was right,” I muse, “it does feel better when you accuse me of it than when I tell you. I know that in practice I’m not doing any better of a job keeping the secret but–”

“It’s less like telling me things that Fuse doesn’t want you to.” She finishes for me and I nod.

“One blink for yes, two for no?”

“This isn’t a hostage situation, I’m not going to gag you.” She pulls out her old scheming chair at the chief’s table and waits for me to sit down across from her, bright eyes fixed on my face, reading it like code. I try not to look miserable but I don’t think it works.

“Oh no, I’m planning on gagging myself with food.” I start in on a sweet roll, swallowing too fast so that it gets caught in my throat and I cough. “Literally, apparently.”

“Fuse doesn’t want to get married, does she?” Aurelia tries, voice surprisingly gentle, like she’s probing around the edge of a wound to see where the damage begins. The place she just touched is on the edge of black and blue and I wince slightly, shrugging one shoulder.

“She says we have time.”

“I don’t think you have that much time.” Her lip curls into a wry, tired smile, “as I’ve reminded you near daily for the last couple of months because I thought you were the one dragging your heels.”

“Yeah, I was there,” I laugh, “you were persistent.”

“And I kept pointing out that it was an heir that you’re dealing with,” she bites her lip, “that's…did you propose?”

“What’s that matter?” I pick at the edge of a cherry tart. It’s not my favorite, when I was little I always thought the filling looked like blood. Now I know that it doesn’t, blood is redder or browner, but some thoughts that get stuck in my head never really dissipate. “I messed it up, anyway, it was right after we talked about maybe going somewhere else to do it, so that your dad wouldn’t be involved.”

“That’s why you freaked out and sent Arvid,” she shakes her head, “tell me the truth next time so that I’m not such a bitch to you. Gods, Eret, I half thought you sent him because you were getting cold feet at the thought of leaving to get married so you wanted to stay on Berk.” She reaches across the table to smack my forearm, affectionate, like she’s training a beloved terror to leave her boots alone. “And what do you mean you messed it up?”

“I suggested Elva marry us,” I snort, giving up the fight to look anything but miserable. Aurelia hits me again.

“Yeah, and Drago Bludvist’s disembodied skull can oversee your dad’s second marriage, great idea.”

“That’s not fair,” I sigh, “Elva isn’t a Drago Bludvist, even to Fuse–”

“I was exaggerating for comedic effect,” she rubs her eyebrow, taking half of the cherry tart I’ve been picking at and nibbling on the edge of it. “What gave you that brilliant idea?”

“I said we should go somewhere else to get married, you know, to have a house before we have a baby who needs one and she asked who I thought would do it without a contract in hand and her dad present. I knew I fucked up right away but…you know, it’s not like she was jumping for joy before I brought Elva up.” I risk looking up at her and wish I hadn’t. She looks a little proud of me, which I’ll accept, I feel like I need it, but mostly she looks understanding. And sorry, which I don’t want her to be. “Hey, don’t worry about the last couple months of harassment, alright? They were nothing compared to the last four years and if I’d told you this earlier, you would have been harassing her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” I raise an eyebrow at her and nod.

“Fine. You’re right,” she flicks her eyes to mine, emphasizing the statement like she can tell how badly I need a win, “but those are my nieces or nephews, I want the best for them, Haddock marriage avoidance excuses aside.”

“Gods, twins.” I laugh to myself, sitting back in my chair and pressing on my eyes with my fingertips. Fuse hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She was excited, definitely, and there was an aching sweetness in the way she kissed across my face, like she was imagining them looking like me as much as I imagine them looking like her, but it’s not fully real to me until I say it too many times.

“Twins,” Aurelia agrees with a breathy chuckle, “maybe it’ll get my dad off of my back for a while. It’ll definitely piss Snotlout off, and I secretly think that’s the only reason he’s pressuring me. Snotlout having more grandkids than him drives him insane.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” I grin at her, “maybe the chief will let me off easy if I let him know that he’s getting a two for one deal on heirs.”

“You’re going to have to tell him soon, you know,” Aurelia prods, gently, “Fuse isn’t getting any smaller.”

“Believe me, I noticed.” I think of the little flutter under my hand and look up at Aurelia, gauging her expression for how determined she is to make fun of me. Not very, I decide, and sigh, trying to put words to the biggest worry that’s been taking up the depths of my thoughts for the last few months, the ominous shadow rising slowly to the surface along with the reality of my future. “This whole time, Fuse has been saying that nothing has to change yet and that we have time.”

“Definitionally, about nine months.” She rolls her eyes, not unkindly, mostly in a wasted but appreciated effort to make me feel like she can’t see straight through me.

“Not long enough to figure out how to be a dad, even if I didn’t have to worry about the marriage stuff and being gone and the fact that my entire future is still up in the air like a dragon drifting on a sea breeze because I’m not chief yet.” It feels wrong to say it here, in the chief’s house, the ancient rafters holding dust that drifted onto them above at least a half dozen other chiefs. Wrong, but the good kind of wrong, the kind of wrong I don’t get to be when I’m toeing the line and trying to convince the chief that I’m ready. I miss throwing words like weapons and Aurelia nods patiently, hearing them hit the walls like blindly scattered knives.

“I guess you haven’t had anyone to talk to,” she’s sad again, the corner of her lips twitching in silent apology, “that must be killing you.”

“Slowly but surely,” I laugh under my breath, voice hoarse like I’m worried the wounded walls are listening, “one of the things I love most about Fuse is that she’s always seen me as well…me. Not just part the chief and part my mom. She doesn’t get it, the–she likes it when people tell her she’s like Tuffnut, you know?”

“I do,” she sets her hand on mine, chewing on her lip for a second before swallowing hard, “do you want to hear a secret?”

“Aren’t I keeping enough of those?” I look up expecting distraction and seeing a rare panic in her eyes, like I accidentally opened a door she’s been keeping locked on purpose.

“I don’t think so,” her tone is careful but not quite guarded, “I haven’t even told Arvid this, he wouldn’t–I should have thought to tell you earlier, actually, but I was busy assuming you were acting like my dad, interestingly enough.” She squeezes my hand and I sigh.

“What’s the secret? You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

“Well,” she sits up straight but then thinks differently, slumping forward with her elbows on the table, hands clasped together. Her thumb rotates her ring around her finger and she bites her lip. “I’m scared to have kids, because what if…” Her exhale is a little shaky and she looks up, searching for eye contact like a tether and nodding to herself, “because what if I don’t love them the way that you’re supposed to. What if they make me feel trapped? What if…what if even for a second, I feel like I could leave them. Like I could just pick up and never see them again, like my Mom, I–”

“Hey,” I cut her off when her breathing quickens, erratic and verging on a sob, “I get it, ok? And I’m not just saying that.” I rest my hands on hers, her interwoven fists fitting entirely in mine, her wedding ring cool against my palm. “I get it. And as bad as this might sound, I’m almost a little relieved that you feel it too, at least, I just keep thinking about how I talk like the chief and that was just…in me, I didn’t get a choice. And what if I’m doomed to be a dad like him too, what if I can’t help it, what if it just–”

“Happens,” she fills in, “what if I can’t see the damage I’m doing pushing my kid to do something that they hate or that they’re scared of for their entire life? What if I ignore the things I don’t like and they’re stubborn enough to let me?”

“And Gods, Aurelia, these twins are going to be so stubborn,” I lean my forehead on our nested hands, “Fuse could out-stubborn a rock without moving a muscle and–”

“You’re no collector of blind obedience ribbons,” she rests her cheek on the back of my head. It’s not comfortable, but I don’t think either of us want a hug. It’s that Haddock spine that dooms us both to taking on other people’s burdens, just because we can. Just because it won’t break us, even if it hurts. “That’s why the house is getting to you, isn’t it? You grew up with your dad.”

“And yours was just the weird, twitchy chief who came in and started messing with things. He was a stranger who was so much like me and I could see everything I don’t like about myself so clear in him and I guess–even if I’m going to act like him, if I just have everyone together under one roof, I’m at least trying to do it my dad’s way.”

“Do you want to get married?” She asks quietly, sitting up and allowing me to do the same, “like I wanted to get married, I wanted the whole thing. The hot husband, the portrait perfect life that I never had, that my dad never had until he married Mom. I wanted the feast where I wasn’t weird anymore, I…”

“That’s going a little far, don’t you think?” I raise an eyebrow at her and she blinks slowly at me, the panic behind her eyes eased and carefully locked back in its cage, tired enough from its brief escape to sleep a little longer. “And no, I don’t, I…I think the chief put the last nail in that funeral boat with threatening a political engagement, honestly, I already felt like any wedding would be more his victory lap than it would be about me or Fuse. But I want everything that comes after it and I just got to thinking of all the dragon dung I’m willing to dig through to be chief and if I can do that, I can get through a miserable feast to start my family off on the right foot.”

“Putting the needs of your kids above your need to be stubborn and ignore my dad,” she smiles at pulls her hands out of mine to pat me on the arm, “that already sounds like good dad thinking to me.”

“Hey, you get a trial run here,” I look at her fake seriously, the dramatic bonding of the moment before fading but leaving me feeling lighter, at least, “you can watch from a safe distance and see if I turn into your dad and if I do, rescue my kids.”

“What do I do if you turn into your mom?” She snorts, “because frankly, I think that’s more likely.”

“Oh Gods, what if Fuse turns into Tuffnut,” I laugh, “I haven’t even started to consider all the ways this could go wrong.”

“Well Hel, at this point, why would you?” She shoves the basket towards me, signalling the end of our talk and leaving me with the food, “it’s not like you planned the rest of this very well, why start now?”

“Good point,” I stand up, “oh gods, one more thing, what if my kid is like Rolf?”

“Let’s not go there. I think that’s from your dad’s side, anyway.”

00000

As much as the chief doesn’t believe me, I don’t like killing. I don’t like the feeling of overpowering someone, of my knife first pushing against their skin before popping through all at once as their eyes bulge and their grip on me goes slack. I don’t like the way a body falls, the heavy crunch of knees on granite, the scuff of the hilt of my knife as they fall forward. I don’t like how heavy bodies are, how hard they are to roll and how they cling to my blade, making me plant my other hand on their unmoving chest to retrieve my knife.

I don’t like the splash of a body falling off of a cliff, the brief stain of red and the unfamiliar, yet ominous shark fins appearing around it and following it into the deep.

I don’t like killing the man who has been leading the small cell of dragon trappers on Elva’s island, but I won’t lie, I do feel a little excited afterwards.

Not because of the killing, of course, but because he’s dead, because they’re all dead, because I get to go home and stay there this time and move onto other problems. I’m almost too excited to check in on the shallow knife wound on my upper arm, but the jagged edge of it brushes against the torn sleeve of my shirt and catches my attention. His knife wasn’t sharp at all and it wasn’t gronckle iron, so the cut is more bruise than slice, like he gouged me with a long, flat spoon. I’ll have to show the wound to Smitelout when I take my knife to her to patch it up, because a weapon that’s been taken care of that badly should distract her from the way my handle might be a little bent from dead weight falling on it.

I rip my sleeve the rest of the way off, tying the fabric around my wound as a temporary bandage. Then I’m lopsided, so I rip the other sleeve off as well, tucking it into my pocket and starting back towards the village, both to tell Elva the good news and to get a couple of stitches before I head home. Home. My last stop over was quick, just a hand off of some intel from Aurelia and an always too brief check in with Fuse. Just thinking about it makes me dizzy and homesick. We confirmed twins, in her shed, her eyes bright as she carefully set my hands on either side of her stomach, one low and one higher. Something like a heel, a tiny, perfect heel, jabbed one hand while an obvious fist punched the other.

Twins.

Thinking about it must make my heart race, because my impromptu bandage starts seeping blood before I’m quite to Elva’s hut. I twist it around, wincing at the drag of wool on the cut, but I can’t show up covered in blood before anyone realizes that Hans isn’t coming back. I think the villagers get it, what we’re doing and why, but that’s not mine to announce or explain. Discretion is what let us get this far and it’s up to Elva what she says moving forward.

Her guard died last week, freak boating accident, what a shame, so I’m free to knock on her front door, pressing my hand to my arm as discreetly as I can while I hear her rustling around inside. She opens the door and looks at my shoulders, frowning in a way that reminds me uncomfortably of Aurelia. There’s some Ingrid in there too, specifically when I won’t let her cut my hair.

“Didn’t your shirt have sleeves?”

“It did,” I step around her and sit down on the stool in her hut. “This one got turned into a bandage though,” I untie it and wince at pulling the wool away from the half-dried blood, “and the other is in my pocket because having one sleeve seemed more suspicious.”

“Less obvious though,” she touches my arm with a cool, scarred hand, not bothering to hide her burns in front of me, “if you were trying to be discrete.”

“I figured I’d just blind anyone trying to look at me,” I hold up my other arm to demonstrate my pale, freckled skin, and Elva rolls her eyes.

“This needs stitches.”

“Yeah, you know how to do that, right? I was kind of hoping we could multitask.” I watch her get a needle and thread it with some thin string, tying a careful knot and pulling it tight with her teeth. “Hans is dead.”

“Do you need ice for this?” She sits down on the edge of her bed and dabs at the wound with a clean cloth before bracing the heel of her hand on my arm and pressing my elbow into my knee for stability.

“I’m good,” I frown, looking away as the first drag of the needle enters my skin. She’s starting in the center, where the wound is most jagged, and I can feel the bruise blooming already. “I expected more of a reaction to that.”

“You aren’t dead,” she blots a drop of blood that escapes and presses another stitch through the skin, “I assumed Hans must be.”

“You know what that means, right?” I stare at a crack in the wall as she puts in one more stitch and ties off the knot. Both ends of the wound are left alone, but the skin presses together neatly there and isn’t so deep. I appreciate the light hand, it shouldn’t keep me from moving my arm. “He was the last one, the leader, all the communication was going through him and in his last letter he was getting pretty desperate for backup.”

She pauses, looking at me with a still forming shrewd expression, like she’s not sure she believes me. I nod.

“It’s over.” It’s not a question but a brief expression of relief and grief and I remember her father and what happened to him and wince.

This suddenly strikes me as stupid, sitting in a chief’s hut, letting her jab me with a needle and showing her my wounds as I tell her she has no more need of my services in cleaning up her problem, especially as she’s reminded that Fuse blew up her dad. I like Elva, enough for my trust to wobble for a second as I stand up, eyeing the door.

“You need a bandage,” she announces simply and holding out a strip of clean linen.

“I can tie it,” I reach for it but she steps up to my arm anyway, tying it tight enough to hold but not threaten. “So, I guess that leaves us with one more thing to talk about.” I glance at the door again, just to be safe, and then back at Elva. I wish Aurelia was here, she’s so much better at this kind of thing than I am. “What’s being allies going to look like moving forward?”

“Oh,” she’s surprised by the question, “right, that would be the last thing. I know that you set up the dragon mail station on the island, I guess I was assuming we’d communicate that way.”

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“Oh, nothing,” she tucks dark hair behind her ear and gestures at my hand, “you just don’t have a ring yet, I thought you might be asking me to marry you and your Fuse.”

The way that she says ‘your Fuse’ makes me smile. She holds it on her tongue like it’s a foreign object, something she couldn’t possibly understand but respects with an appropriate amount of weight.

“She’s not a fan of the idea, still.” I shake my head, the weight of it tugging at my chest, like it’s what just got stitched, “which is a little worrying, I’ll admit, because the twins aren’t looking so small anymore.”

“Twins?”

“Oh. Shit,” I flush. “I told my siblings back home, I guess I’m not in the habit of lying about it anymore. I’m glad you already knew she was pregnant,” I laugh, awkward about feeling so proud and nervous and worried all at once, “but yeah, it looks like twins so it’s a good thing you saved my arm. I’m going to need them both.”

“Your arm wasn’t in any danger.” She shakes her head at me, intentionally ignoring the joke. At first I wondered if she was just blunt, but now I’m getting the feeling that she really just doesn’t have time or interest in dealing with my yakshit. I’m struck again by how much I like her and I hate that Fuse would hate to hear me say that.

I almost wonder if Fuse doesn’t want to get married because it makes her think of Elva, if her ideas about marriage got twisted up in the almost engagement the way that mine did. I wish they could just talk, just once, then Elva wouldn’t be so much of a hidden threat and maybe it’d change her mind. Or something.

“Maybe you should come to Berk,” I blurt out. “Meet the chief, do the negotiations. Meet your allies.”

And Fuse.

“Is that the best idea?” She tugs down her sleeve and I wince, knowing she’s thinking of Fuse. I don’t like someone thinking she’s a monster, I realize, and maybe I’m just looking for the next thing to fix, because I nod.

“We’re allies now. I’ll send a Terror when I get things worked out on my end, it’ll be fun. Hel, bring Lennart, bring a few people. We should get to know each other.”

00000

I mean to open up with telling Fuse about Elva’s impending visit. I really do. I know I need to tell her before I bring it to Aurelia and the chief and I can say I’m not exactly proud of the concept that comes to me about four hours into the six hour flight. Maybe if Fuse knows Elva is coming, she’ll want to be married when Elva gets here. I try to push it out of my head but I think I like the idea of it being in a rush and more than that, maybe I kind of like the idea of her claiming me again, more officially this time, home included.

But it’s hard when I land outside her shed and she looks up from whatever she’s drawing, her arms stretched out to reach the counter over her belly. Usually, she leans over the counter, edge of it pressed against her stomach, nose against the page she’s writing on. She looks downright awkward sitting up straight, sie of her hand smudged with charcoal. It’s cute. And she’s bigger than I remember even three days ago, rounder in a way that’s obvious with the way her vest tucks underneath it while she’s sitting. And she smiles at me and I realize that I’m not going to have to leave again, and six hours hunched on a Thunderdrum’s back isn’t the only reason my knees are wobbly.

“You’re back early again,” she stands up, hand on the counter not quite steadying, but something close to it. I’ve noticed her walking differently, shoulders pitched backwards like she’s compensating for the extra weight in front, and it makes me want to hold her up.

“I’m back,” I grin, patting Bang to take a break as I step into her shed and hug her, arching my back around the belly and burying my nose in her hair.

“What happened to your arm?” She tries to lift the edge of my bandage and I shrug her hand off, stepping away just enough to look at her.

“Just a couple of stitches.”

“Let me see,” she frowns, smooth, unburned fingers going for the knot. I grab her hand and kiss it, before pressing it to my shoulder, away from the wound.

“Did you hear me?” I rest my forehead on hers, “I’m back. As in I don’t have to go again.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen.

“I got the last trapper today,” I look down at my bandage, “I don’t think he or his dad had sharpened grandpa’s heirloom knife in either of their lifetimes, so he got a bit of a gouge in, but I think it’s over.” At least for now. I don’t say that though, I can’t even think about the next skirmish.

“Bad enough for stitches?” She reaches for my arm again and I pout, lower lip extended, because even though it always makes me feel stupid, it always works. That’s an Eret feature that would be good for the twins to have, I relent, as long as it doesn’t work on me.

Instead of my bandage, her thumb lands on my lip, pressing it in slightly like she’s trying to tuck away my pout. I kiss her fingertip.

“Why do you always have to be the one getting hurt?” She sighs and if it were anyone else, the question would be rhetorical, but her eyes are a steely, demanding blue.

“It’s like four stitches,” I mumble against her thumb, not willing to give up the pout entirely, “it’s no big deal.” She takes her hand off of my mouth and touches the old, white scar on my temple, tracing it back towards my hair. “Can you at least be a little happy that I found all the dragon trappers and now I’m home?” And we can plan where to put babies when they’re born is the unsaid continuation as I let my hand rest on her stomach, obvious even through the vest.

“I don’t like you getting hurt.” She’s stern and it makes me think of my chat with Aurelia and the fact that she’s not turning into Tuffnut anytime soon. If anything, there’s a shadow of my mom in there.

“Well, now I’m home and you can protect me.” I offer jokingly but she gives a curt, serious nod that’s impossible not to smile at when her vest squeaks against my stomach, the new leather stretched in new ways. I reach for the clasp and she doesn’t stop me, instead reaching for the door to the shed and pulling it closed. There’s a candle lit already, an orange beam of light stretching over the parchment she was drawing on. “Sorry, it feels like I have to say hi to them too.” I slide my hand under her shirt, over the smooth dome of her belly, thumb brushing where her navel is starting to turn inside out. “Otherwise it’s rude.”

“They agree with you,” she grins at me, “they like when you talk, as soon as you showed up they started kicking again.”

“Really?”

“It was quiet until you landed but now…” She drags my hand to the side slightly and I’m rewarded with one of those little jabs.

“Well then, since for the first time in living memory, I have an audience who likes me talking,” I speak at her stomach, a little louder than necessary, and something flutters at my palm again.

“I like your talking.” Fuse wraps her arms around my neck.

“You aren’t this enthusiastic about it.” My smile widens when that gets another kick.

“I’m not going to start kicking you,” she kisses the corner of my mouth and I feel her relaxing slightly, like I’d hoped she would when she knew I was back for good.

“Could you still?” I tease her, one hand on each side of her belly, sizing it up. She thinks for a second and I’m worried that I said the wrong thing.

“If you laid on the ground,” she answers seriously and I smile.

“I could do that.”

“You could?” She pushes lightly on my shoulders, “that’s an idea.”

“It is?” I cock my head, recognizing the promise in her expression with a thrill that makes it impossible to think about anything else. “Even–I mean, even with how big you are, I won’t hurt the babies?”

“How big do you think you are?” She reaches for the top of my pants and I take a step back, mouth falling open in fake outrage.

“Rude.”

“You won’t hurt anything,” she insists, a bit impatient like I’m keeping her waiting on a project or something.

“You’ve never had a problem with my size before, I’m just saying–”

“I take it back.”

“Good.” I pick her up, hands on her hips, and set her on her workbench to stand between her knees. She leans back, arms around my neck for balance.

“I meant I take back that I like you talking.” She purses her lips, holding back a laugh, and waiting for me to retaliate. The homesickness is fading through my fingers and toes, like Berk and Fuse are sucking it out of me. My chest feels light and bubbly, and as wounded as my pride might be right now, I don’t think I really remember the last time I had fun. The last time I joked without intent to distract or divert or act like I feel better than I do.

I fake weighing what Fuse said, hemming and hawing while rubbing my hands up and down her thighs.

“Ok, I can shut up for a while.”

She laughs into my kiss, and as much as I’m ready to move forward to a bed, I can’t say there’s not nostalgia in a visit to the floor of her shed. It’s strange for us, giggly and new and clumsy at a level it hasn’t really been since that second time when neither of us could figure out if we’d learned anything from the first. We’re still laughing when Fuse needs help up afterwards, grunting slightly and hauling herself up with a vice grip on my hand. I couldn’t really see her before, in the flurry of clothes between laughs and awkwardly repositioning, but I take it in now in the light of the one dimming candle. Her bindings are still on, but containing decidedly more and I swallow hard, internally arguing with my throbbing, stone bruised ass whether we should do that again.

“What?” Fuse lets go of my hand, bending for her shirt a little uncomfortably, but I beat her to it, turning it right side out and handing it to her. She’s self-conscious, maybe, but I can’t imagine why. I don’t see how she’s going to hide that bump for much longer and I’m shocked by the surge of possessiveness, like I both want people to see but don’t. I want them to know that she’s mine but the idea of having to tell them makes me angry. They should notice but if they do, I want to hit them.

It’s probably the closest to understanding how Fuse feels about Elva that I’m going to ever get. That thought brings what I need to tell her back to my still hazy brain and I hug her close before she can get her shirt back on. She tries to pull away but I hold on a second longer, hand sliding down the slightly unfamiliar curve of her lower back and pressing her to me.

“You’re amazing,” I tell her honestly as I let go, “I just…hadn’t seen, you know, you.” I graze my hand along her arm and intertwine my fingers with hers. “And I don’t think we can hide this that much longer.” I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice neutral as I continue. “I’m not sure I want to.”

She bites her lip and squeezes my hand before letting go to put on her shirt. It hangs down past her butt in the back but barely covers her in the front and I think it’s an old one of mine. That feeds the rare, territorial spark burning in my chest and I don’t really recognize the impulse that suddenly wants to show Elva how ridiculous her months ago offer was. I want Fuse to see how ridiculous it is for her to compare herself to anyone else, how absolutely above comparison she is.

“My feet are so swollen they almost gave it away, yesterday.” She looks a little embarrassed and I grab her hand again, resisting that enduring, primal urge to set her hand somewhere lower. “I was with Arvid and your dad got home, my boots wouldn’t fit and I had to steal his. I still have to get those back to him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind,” I laugh, using the example to steel myself. She has to be seeing reason by now. “I don’t know how much longer the vest is going to work.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” she turns back to the smudged drawing she was working on when I interrupted her. I’m newly shocked at how small she still looks from behind, and I try to resist the urge to sidle up behind her and reach around to feel her. It doesn’t work, really, and I tuck myself against her, kissing the side of her neck. My hand slides up her belly there’s a little tap against it and I freeze.

“Did the babies hear that?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, probably.”

I wrinkle my nose, hugging her over her shirt and across the swell of her stomach. I can still grab my wrists, but definitely not my elbows the way that I used to.

“Is that–I mean, will they remember that?”

Fuse gives me a sharp look over her shoulder like I’ve interrupted her with nonsense one too many times.

“So about my vest,” she gestures at the plans she was drawing and I hook my chin over her shoulder to look at them. I recognize Smitelout’s handwriting on the only smoothed out patches of the parchment and for some reason, that’s what makes me feel guilty about my friends lying for us.

“What if you can’t wear your vest?”

“Then we let it out here,” she start gesturing at the sides of the drawing and I sigh.

“No, I mean, what if there’s an event that you can’t wear your vest to.” I say vaguely and she freezes.

“I think I can get married in a vest.” Her tone is clipped and a kick against my wrist almost tells me to let go of her, the babies already picking sides. Good kids, but right now it makes me nauseous and my hip throbs harder from its abuse against the floor.

“You can, I’m sure you can but that’s not what I’m talking about.” I should face her to say this but I don’t know if I’ll keep talking if I do. “I uh…couldn’t finish up with Elva, because I’m not chief and I didn’t expect this to end so soon and I didn’t have the negotiation stuff that Aurelia and the chief have been working on and I invited her here. Diplomatically. For negotiations.”

Fuse’s teeth grind together. I freeze, ignoring the wisp of hair tickling my eyebrow.

“Oh?” Her 'oh’ mimics mine the only way she ever follows me, deadlier and expecting more. I swallow and exhale slowly.

“She’s an ally, I need to treat her like an ally. I’m sure there will be some feast, or something–”

“Ok, I’m not going.” She cuts me off, decisive, and I let go of her, looking for my pants because there’s something primal about getting angry while naked that makes me think I’m going to say something really stupid. I put them on, looking at her shadowed profile as she edits her drawing, brows knit in a deep frown.

“Fuse,” I plead with her and it works. She looks at me a little alarmed and more stubborn, waiting for me to change her mind. I know that’s not going to work, so I go out on a brittle limb and try to appeal to her future. To our future. “You have to. I need you to. What’s stopping them from becoming our enemy now that I solved their trapper problem and rebuilt their village? We need to be allies and you–”

“I’m the reason we aren’t. I know.” She’s a little harsher than I would have been and a lot quieter. Honest without emotion even as her lip wobbles and she looks back at her drawing.

“I need you there.” I don’t like putting it on her but I don’t know what else to do. “I’ve never done this before, I’ve never turned an enemy into an ally, I’ve never negotiated something like this. I–The chief seems to think I know what I’m doing, I don’t. Aurelia thinks–it doesn’t matter what she thinks. I need you there. For me and to see this through.”

Fuse grinds her teeth again, jaw flexing, eyes focused on the seam between her workbench and the wall.

“I don’t know how I can help, I only know how to make enemies.” There’s no self-deprecation to it, no joke, just a slow, hollow self-acceptance of the absolute opposite of truth that I don’t even know how to deal with.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” she sighs, looking at me levelly.

“It’s not.” I scramble for an example, “Smitelout is your friend, Fuse, I think I made her an enemy when I blew snot at her before I was one, I–I don’t know how anyone who meets you couldn’t love you.”

“That doesn’t factor in the influence of the people that don’t meet me.” She stares at me another minute before deflating, holding her elbows and looking at her feet. If she can even see them, that is. “Ok. I’ll figure something out. I’ll be there. Arvid isn’t going to be negotiating anything, is he?”

“No, why?” The relief is as light as the confusion is heavy and neither competes with the guilt.

Fuse doesn’t like killing, but this is the first time she’s shown she minds it.

“I’ll be with him while you’re busy.” She sets her jaw and nods. I get the feeling I should remind him to hold her back gently, except he already knows.

“Ok.” I nod. I think if I asked for a hug it would be tense, so I don’t. The way she says 'married’ still hurts and I hate that she won’t tell me why, but the relief I had in coming home diminishes into a new series of obstacles.

“I love you.” She shakes her head at me, face softening, and it’s a reason, not an excuse. I feel so guilty for asking her to do something she doesn’t want to that I almost take it back, but I can’t. I do need her, now more than ever.

“I love you too.”

She smiles, closed lipped and exhausted as I feel, but I try to let it calm me down, at least until the next disaster.


	17. Chapter 13

“There,” Mom puts a final stitch into the shoulder of the stiff wool shirt she’s insisting I wear for the diplomatic feast today. My reflection in the window won’t quite meet my eye. "Now if you can just not lose any more weight between now and the feast, you might actually look presentable.“ 

"No one is going to recognize me,” I joke, fidgeting with the stiff fabric, embroidered with metal on the front. 

“Maybe not while you look so miserable,” she tugs on my shirt in the back before stepping away, eyebrows knit together in an unusually gentle concerned face, “what’s up?” 

“That’s a loaded question.” I roll my eyes. 

“Is Fuse ok?” Mom asks, too quiet to be truly suspicious, but I’d be lying if I said I was wholly committed to our lie at this point. 

What would Mom do if I told her Fuse is just wildly pregnant? Oh yeah and she’s been distant ever since I told her Elva was coming to Berk. Or, oh, she won’t talk about marriage or where to put babies and I can’t tell if she’s mad at me and all our friends have this tight, fake smile around the both of us like they’re waiting to pretend not to be terrified when the bomb goes off. 

“She’s fine.” My shoulder tugs against that crisp seam when I shrug, “not thrilled about today but…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s an honest offer and I think about telling her everything. I don’t know how she wouldn’t be mad at me for keeping the secret for this long, though, and there’s some little hope left in me that I can figure out a way for her to be excited when I do tell her. 

She squeezes my arm. 

“You know you can talk to me, right? You’re never going to be too old or important to do that.” 

“Important,” I snort, “that’s funny that you’d mention important.” 

“What do you mean by that?” She frowns at me and even though I know she’s already a grandma four times over, I remember it’s going to happen again and they’ll be my kids. She seems older than even a few minutes ago. Wiser, maybe, not that she wasn’t wise before. Maybe thinking of her as a grandma makes her seem like someone who would communicate that wisdom through means other than a stern lecture and a smack upside my head. "Something is obviously bothering you.“ 

"Why aren’t I chief yet?” The question hangs in the air for a second and she stands up straight. 

“What?” Apparently, she wasn’t expecting me to ask that either. 

“Why won’t the chief make me chief? It’s been four years, I’ve been doing everything around here and out there and…and he still doesn’t think I’m ready, for some reason. I don’t know what else I could do or how to convince him…I’m…” I fumble for the words, “I’m never going to be good enough, am I?” 

“That’s…not what I was expecting,” Mom shakes her head, “but–that’s what you’re upset about?” 

I shrug, “I just…I’m in the exact same place I was four years ago, down to the fancy clothes. Everyone else is moving on with their lives and I’m stuck here, almost chief.” 

“Ok, can we back up to the beginning here, when did you start feeling this way?” 

“There’s no beginning,” I catch my reflection again and try not to hate it. I look so much like the chief that the title feels further away. "There’s no end either, I guess, how long can I be almost chief before it becomes a joke? It already feels like a joke to me, I’m trying so hard to make everything work and I solved this peacefully just like he asked. The longer this goes on the more I feel like I’m just pretending, like I’m…you know, one of those rebellious Hoffersons trying to make a name for myself. Like the last five years don’t matter.“ 

"You’re twenty one, Eret,” Mom looks at me like she’s seeing something she hasn’t before. It’s a look that usually hides a secret I don’t like behind it, “you’re so young, you don’t have to be chief right now.” 

“The chief was.” 

“That wasn’t his choice.” She sighs, “you know I think you’re doing a great job, right?” 

I shrug, the shirt constrictive in a way that makes it hard to breathe, “I don’t think anyone thinks that, honestly.” Fuse used to, until I invited Elva here. "All I know is that nothing I do is good enough. It’s not like I have a single flat spot to work on, that’d be too easy, it’s just all…this.“ I gesture to myself. Mom laughs. "Good to know this is funny, thanks for the pep talk–”

“What the Hel are you talking about?” 

“Exactly what I said. I’m always barely not good enough. Or not always, sometimes I’m really far off, but…take today for example. I fixed everything, I negotiated peace–or well, Aurelia did, but I didn’t mess it up. I made an ally and I still don’t get to sign the big deal. Everything I do is only half right, at best, the chief always has some issue with it, I always forget to check one thing or another. And doing more doesn’t help anything, maybe I just can’t do it, maybe–”

“Slow down,” she rests her hand on my shoulder, “how long have you been feeling this way?” 

“A few years,” I sigh, “every time I had to make a hard decision while we were at war I…I wanted it to be my decision. I didn’t want to be speaking for someone else anymore, I–but then it started really sinking in when it became clear that the chief doesn’t want me speaking for Berk. So I tried to do more to prove I can handle things–”

“Hiccup knows you can handle things.” 

“Then why doesn’t he let me? Why doesn’t he make it official?” It’s my last out, isn’t it? If I were chief I could sign a house over to myself, married or not, but that’s clearly not going to happen. 

“I can’t answer that.” She looks at me, into me, and I almost hope she’ll find the other secret and put me out of my misery, “not because it’s a secret, but because I really don’t know. But I think you’re doing great, and maybe I should tell you more often. I worry about that big head of yours, but maybe it’s mostly hair.” 

“Thanks,” I look at my feet. It doesn’t sink in. It beads up like water on Bang’s back. "Even though I’m pretty sure you’re just lying so that I’m not late to my big peace feast.“ 

"Stop that,” she smacks my arm with the back of her hand. "I don’t know how to make you see yourself the way that I see you. The way that we all see you.“ 

"And how’s that?” I don’t want to ask who ‘we’ is because I know it can’t include Fuse. 

“As a very brave, very self-sacrificing, very stubborn young future chief who could ask for help a little more often.” She says it like it’s obvious and I wish it could be that simple. 

“Thanks Mom. Maybe you’re right.” I’d almost believe myself if it weren’t for the heavy pit in my stomach. 

“Of course I am,” she nods, “now come on, you’re going to be late.” 

I’m not too worried about late. The longer I take to get there, the more bonding time Elva and Aurelia and maybe the chief have. I sigh heavily at that little internal avoidance of the problem and Mom claps me on the shoulder. She doesn’t tell me to cheer up, but her grip does, and I want to shrug it off suddenly, like I get a glimpse of what Fuse mentioned around Rolf’s daughter about my mom walking off with babies, which I basically still am. A baby having babies, plural. Except I’m not, because Fuse is, and there’s no way for me to take any of that on for her. 

Mom makes some comment about checking on Fuse for me, but as always, the sound in the hall pushes me back, giving me that too scarce moment to scan the crowd. Elva is sitting between Aurelia and the chief at the table in the front. Aurelia is writing something, grinning and sliding a plate of food disinterestedly behind her, in one of Elva’s guards direction. John, I think, the one who gets under even Lennart’s skin. Elva laughs at something the chief says and I hate it and how it makes me feel behind again and even guiltier for it. 

The chief is a dick but he’s my…I don’t know, or I do. It’s…I look around for my dad and my eyes catch on Arvid, holding a comically large mug and talking to someone I can’t see around his shoulders. A step inside reveals a sliver of combed pink hair and a leather vest. She’s laughing. I haven’t seen her laugh, really laugh, in the week since she learned about this feast. Her eyes don’t crinkle around the edges so it’s not the smile she reserves for me, but it’s real. Arvid feels me staring and turns slightly, gesturing carefully with the mug carve out of a miniature cask that he holds right in front of Fuse’s stomach. 

That’s not bad. I give him a thumbs up and Fuse sees me, laugh dying with a cautious smile that I hate as she waves. I wave back, trying to communicate with my hands that I need to say hi to Elva but I’ll be over in five, but she shakes her head and frowns, Arvid’s mug moving between her and the door. 

“And you made it, finally, you didn’t tell me half of what was going on,” Aurelia starts in, voice sharp and eyes a little worried as she combs over me like she’s Ingrid looking for enough lice to justify giving me a haircut. 

“Arvid was supposed to fill you in,” I lie, hoping that she’ll get I mean it as some sort of code, and she gets close enough because she glances back at my brother and Fuse and rolls her eyes. 

“He’s too busy showing off over there strategically moving heavy objects.” She gestures at a chair between her and Elva but I think better of sitting down. I feel eyes on me, the back of my neck. Not Fuse’s and that makes this feel more important, she’s giving me a shot I don’t think I deserve. 

“I’m good to stand,” I nod at Elva. She’s wearing a long sleeved dress with a high collar, burn hidden from the world, “had your ears talked off yet?” 

“You think I’m not used to it,” she laughs, expression easy but shoulders stiff and the chief pats her on the arm, distinctly fatherly. I find myself instantaneously craving it, that easy acceptance, and it stings again that Elva is chief and there are no questions about it. 

“Despite all the usual talking, it looks like you did a good job getting things finished up,” the chief compliments me and it’s an appetizer, it only makes me want another. Maybe we aren’t a generation out of sync, maybe it’s just a few years, because I think I’m the one with the 'please like me’ smile now, fake and too wide on my face. "We’re just discussing how things will be moving forward, just trade agreements and anyway, I bet we can handle it. You should enjoy the feast.“ 

"No, I want to handle it,” I lean over Aurelia to see whatever she’s writing and she hides the scroll under her elbow, “really?” 

“Don’t you have some other things to deal with right now?” She raises an eyebrow, shrugging a subtle shoulder at the crowd. Fuse is on her way over along with Arvid, carrying either half of a long tray, laden with food. Arvid winks, gesturing with his chin to where the tray is covering Fuse from waist to mid thigh and Aurelia purses irritated, amused lips at him. 

“I thought we’d bring over some more food,” he greets Elva with a polite nod and when they set the tray down, a whole roast chicken is mostly eclipsing Fuse’s stomach. I can see it because I know to look and because she emptied her pockets for the occasion, but it’s not bad. 

The chief and Elva say something like a polite thank you and Fuse looks at me hard-faced, pale except for frustrated pink patches high on her cheeks. She holds out a stiff, un-bandaged right hand and releases her lower lip with a forced exhale. 

“I thought I should introduce myself.” Her voice is surprisingly pleasant, given how clipped it is, and Arvid gives her an encouraging nod whether she sees it or not. He’s good at this, I’ll have to tell him later. Maybe Mom can hand over chief’s wife duties to him. "Elva, right? I’m Fuse.“ 

Elva shakes Fuse’s hand with her scarred one and Fuse’s eyes widen briefly, flicking to mine before she sets her jaw again and nods. 

"Eret’s Fuse,” Elva confirms, letting go of the handshake and looking determined at Fuse’s face, like she’s trying not to look down.

“I’m the only Fuse, it’s more like he’s my Eret.” She clarifies, quiet and flat-footed, but friendly. Or if not friendly, friendlier than I expected. 

“Not officially,” the chief grumbles, looking at me almost sympathetically and it’s not a compliment. It’s pity and that’s the last thing I need right now. Not to mention it doesn’t make any sense, it’s not like he knows I’m in some fraught situation with no place to put babies that seem more immediate by the minute. 

“It feels pretty official,” Fuse jokes under her breath and Elva catches her eye. There’s one of those female moments and Fuse’s hand clenches at her side, presumably to keep it from drawing attention to her stomach. 

“It should, from the way he talks about you all the time,” Elva sounds like Aurelia again, saying something that means something else and Fuse weighs it for a second before nodding. 

“Sorry about your dad,” it’s a real apology but it stands on shaky ground and I wonder how far from here I can take the pretense of enjoying the feast and if I could make it far enough to talk to her. "I wasn’t aiming for him.“ She sighs before it can resonate as a threat, shrugging. 

Elva looks at me, unsure of what to say. 

"I think we can finish the trade agreement, Eret,” Aurelia pokes me in the hip, harder than she explicitly needs to, and I walk around the table to put my arm over Fuse’s shoulders. It’s a start. It’s probably not the best time to bring up vaporized parents but hey, she shook hands, nothing detonated. 

“If you need to stay, you can stay,” she offers, sincere and guarded and looking to Arvid to produce some disguise for her. That’s the worst part, somehow, her looking away from me to find something to lean on. 

“I can come back later,” I use my short, bear-skin cape to hide her profile as I grip her upper arm and turn her around. 

“You don’t have to.” Aurelia’s trying to help, I know she is, but it only feels like a slower coup with better intentions, but this isn’t he time to say that. I don’t know what it’s the time for, but it’s something, the nagging feeling on the back of my neck only getting worse. 

Mom isn’t watching, she’s talking to a group of Vikings in another corner, a few of Elva’s people among their ranks. Trade or dragons or weapons, I don’t know, but her hatchet is in her hand and she’s making them laugh. Ingrid is my next check, she’s a compass directed towards trouble, and sometimes I’ve noticed her shifting foot to foot before we even saw signs of something dangerous, but she’s with Finn, kneeling in front of him to chastise him as Smitelout wrenches what looks like a throwing knife out of his hand. 

Thor help whoever left that on the floor when Mama Nightmare Ingrid figures it out. 

“What?” Fuse asks, following my eye line as I head almost instinctively towards Smitelout. 

“She doesn’t recognize the knife, it’s not one of ours.” 

“You mean someone brought it here,” Fuse starts to glare at Elva but catches herself, scanning the crowd with me like she gets to do something about the knife. Which she doesn’t, because I have to pull her back into me to remind her to hide her stomach and because she has that stomach in the first place. "We checked them at the docks.“ 

"I’m sure you did,” I see Ingrid’s eyes widen and she meets mine, not quite panicked, but not steady either. "About as sure as I was that I got them all. Go find Arvid.“ I step away from her, distracted, and she catches my sleeve. 

"Sure, but then what’s the plan?” Her face falls even as she asks and I hate it. I hate that she knows she can’t deal with throwing knives or explosives or my diplomatic problems right now. It would be easier if she fought me about it, if she were reckless enough that I could get mad at her. But she understands and she hates it and I hate myself for putting her in this position. 

“I’ll be back,” I ignore her question and turn away before I can see her face fall. 

Ingrid is holding up the knife, subtle as a Nightmare on a rampage and I tell her with my eyes to lower it. The talking in the hall is overwhelming, buzzing in my ears, and it’s taking everything in me not to yell at them to shut up and let me think, but that would give whoever dropped that knife a chance to escape. I’m almost close enough to talk to her when I hear someone gasp. 

Luckily, I look back at Fuse first, standing next to Arvid by the chief’s table and pointing, wide-eyed over my head. I turn and he’s closer to me than Ingrid, stupid John, the one who barely has a name, let alone a brain, and he’s holding a throwing knife in pinched fingers above his shoulder. He’s aiming and he doesn’t notice me staring and moving and trying to think all at the same time. He hears Ingrid though and lets the blade loose and the idea of thinking goes out the window. It’s flying towards the chief’s table, towards Aurelia and Elva and Fuse. And I jump at the same second Ingrid slams into him.

The throw goes wide and hits me in the arm, but I don’t really feel anything, rolling over my shoulder and back to my feet, ready to help Ingrid if she needs it. 

She doesn’t, of course, she has the guy on his face, his own knife pressed against the back of his neck and I dust myself off, looking around at the crowd. No one else comes forward, no one defends his actions. It looks like Arvid tipped the chief’s table at about the same time as I jumped and Aurelia peeks over it, sighing in relief before everyone else follows. 

“Is everyone ok?” I roll my shoulder and a bolt of pain shoots up my arm. I must have landed on it funny and I brush it off, mentally counting everyone. Dad, absent. Mom, hatchet hanging limp from her hand in a far corner. Ingrid sitting on the asshole and waiting for orders. Arvid with an arm around Aurelia, both staring at me. Fuse, eyes welling up with those tears I can’t get used to, fingers white knuckled on the edge of the tipped table. 

The chief, eyebrow raised, furious in a way that doesn’t make any sense. 

“This guy isn’t going to be for long,” Ingrid huffs, adjusting her position. 

“Get off of him, take him to the arena. Use the Terror cage.” The chief directs her an she raises a skeptical eyebrow at me, questioning the authority. 

I open my mouth to tell her that it’s ok if that contraband knife interacts with the trapper scum’s brain stem on her way to getting him to his feet but the chief cuts me off with that silent authority I can’t mimic, stepping around the upturned table to point at my arm with a stiff, unmoving finger. 

“What?” 

“Do you maybe want to take that knife out of your arm?” 

I look down. It’s not a big knife, only a couple inches long, and only about half of it is actually in the flesh of my forearm, to be fair. Most of it is caught up in the tight woven wool of my shirt. There’s not even any blood yet, and I clench my fist, gauging if it’s actually even in me. The first dot of blood leaks through and I look up at everyone. 

“Come on, asshole,” Snotlout is helping Ingrid heft Berk’s new prisoner to his feet and Ingrid shakes her head at the chief on the way out, disgruntled but going along with it. 

My arm throbs. I stare at it again, uncomprehending. It hurts but I don’t care. Or maybe I do care but I just don’t want to because it’s really starting to sting. 

“Well?” The chief’s nostrils flare. He seems bigger than me for the first time in years and I grip the hilt of the knife, pulling it out with a sharp tug. My sleeve soaks through along the gash and I hold it up, sheepish. 

“The knife was holding all the blood in.” 

“Get out,” he doesn’t raise his voice but he doesn’t need to. I get it. Or I don’t, but I get the tone. I’ve used it on him as many times as he’s used his please-like-me grin on me. 

“Fine–”

“No,” he says a little louder, “everyone else, feast is over. Eret, we need to talk.” 

People start leaving. I can see them out of the corners of my eyes even as the chief’s bore into mine, paralyzing like a Flightmare and it almost sticks. The first drip of blood from my fingers snaps me out of it an I see Fuse, looking back at me as she follows Arvid and Aurelia and against all odds, Elva, out of the hall. 

“Later,” I snap myself out of it, jogging after the crowd, clenching my fist around my slowly sogging sleeve and trying to hold the blood in as I catch up. I stumble slightly as I shoulder past Elva, apologizing under my breath as I grab Fuse’s shoulder with my good hand. Gods, it’s been four years since I had one of those, please not again, I’m not ready for that. "Hey, Fuse, are–“

"What?” She stops dead in her tracks and the last lingering crowd splits around us. The chief doesn’t follow but I almost wish he would because now I’m frozen in Fuse’s uncharacteristically icy glare. 

“Hi.” It’s generic. It’s about all I’ve got because my arm is really starting to throb. 

“Hi.” 

“Where are you going?” I swallow hard, shooing a slightly too curious, lingering Aurelia with my eyes. 

“The chief kicked us out.” She crosses her arms but doesn’t shrug my hand off and I consider it a win, comparatively speaking. "He wanted to talk to you.“ 

"I don’t need whatever lecture he’s going to give me about not killing people,” I walk with her when she starts towards her house, the woods quiet and creaking with something like wind as I try to figure out what I want to say. "I need to apologize for–“

"I think you do,” she stops short, eyes shiny again, taking a step backwards and looking at my arm with a grim expression that’s almost the face she gives my scars. It’s not guilty though, it’s something else, something alive and desperate that makes me feel two inches tall. 

“I’m sorry–”

“No, I think you need the lecture.” She sets her jaw, lower lip trembling until she bites it. My hand drops off of her arm and I press it to my forearm, trying to stop the bleeding that throbs and tickles down my wrist. 

“Suddenly, you’re a pacifist?” My tone is a dull blade, probing and scraping and not intending to cut. 

Fuse’s hand lands on her stomach, “for the time being but that’s not what I’m talking about.” 

My head is spinning and where she’s always been steady as my focal point, now she’s spinning too, crumbling in a way I should be able to put back together. And she’s agreeing with the chief, which she’s never done, and it makes me feel not enough all over again. She was planning on being chief’s wife, a title not a stupid, ceremonial document that could change our relationship for the closer, at least proximity wise. I don’t know if a house would make her talk to me right now. 

I’ve always understood Fuse’s silence, even appreciated it, loved it as part of her, but right now it’s suffocating. I want her to explode, she’s not supposed to be so trembling and stoic. It’s something I’ve done to her and I want to undo it. 

“I was going to apologize to you for putting you in a dangerous situation tonight. I should have handled it, he shouldn’t have made it here, he shouldn’t have had a weapon, that’s on me.” 

A tear leaks down her cheek and she smiles the dark, wasted draugr of a smile preceding an explosion as she wipes it away on the sleeve of her clean dress. I miss the soot, but it coats her voice, and I can’t hear the woods, I can’t hear anything but my own blood rushing on its way out and Fuse. 

“Every time I think about you being a dad,” her voice catches slightly and she clears it, “I wonder how long that it will last.” 

“What?” I’ve spent four years hearing the sweet understanding in Fuse’s broadly, accidentally insulting words, but these hit hard and below the belt. "Are you saying you don’t think I’m going to be there for our kids? What in Midgard could make you think that? It’s not like I’m already sensitive about absent parents or anything.“ I start pacing, wringing my hands and avoiding looking at her, because I don’t think I want to see her resolve when I’m mad at her. 

Actually mad at her. A bright little flame of blue fire in my chest, smoking out my throat and making me want to cough it out. 

"It’s not that you haven’t been here much the last few months.” It stings because it’s Fuse and it’s honest. "It’s not because you put me in a dangerous situation tonight, I put myself there, I could have stayed home–“

"Not if you’re so worried about being Chief’s Wife.” I cut her off, immediately regretting it, feeling like a dragon with a broken wing backed into a corner. She sees a way out that I don’t and for the first time I’m scared she might not tell me about it. There’s been a reason she hasn’t been panicking like I have, it’s Fuse, of course there’s a reason. 

“No, I’m worried about you living to be chief.” She’s not loud by Viking standards but she’s about as loud as I’ve ever heard her aside from post-explosion celebrations. 

“So you think I’m a dead end too.” I feel hollow, her words echoing around inside of me with whatever blood isn’t slowly dripping onto the ground and my boots. 

“I think you’re going to make sure you are.” She doesn’t wipe away this wave of tears, fists clenched at her sides as she stays rock steady, “it took me so long to get over the feeling that you being with me was dangerous for you, but now that I’m not a near death experience, you’re looking everywhere else. You apologize for putting me near a dangerous situation, but you take a knife for–”

“A knife that was headed for you and the chief and Aurelia and–”

“Vaguely,” she shakes her head, wiping her face and leaving a wet sheen behind, “how am I supposed to marry you when you won’t take the tiniest precaution not to die?” 

“I’m fine,” I insist. It’s like an introduction now. Hi, I’m Eret, I’m not chief and I’m fine. Good is an overstatement, my arm stings like hell and I’m a little dizzy from the derailed assassination attempt and this fight I don’t want to have, but I’m fine. 

“You’re always bleeding. You’re always hurt–”

“And you’re usually on fire.” Nothing she’s saying is making any sense. They’re stitches and bruises, none of them compare to the scars that came before them, the scars I’ve told her again and again I don’t blame her for. I made the choice to jump, I made it so that no one else would. I made it for the dragons. "And I’m sorry, this just doesn’t sound like a real reason to me, considering you weren’t jumping for joy about the concept of Chief’s Wife when I first brought it up.“ 

"That’s not why I’m mad right now.” She tries to drag me back on topic but I don’t budge. 

“Maybe it’s why I’m mad.” And rejected. And sad. And scared that she thinks I’m going to be as bad of a dad as I fear I am. Hel, she thinks I won’t even be there. 

“Ok, I know I won’t ever live up to your mother’s expectations of a chief’s wife.” Saying it hurts her, but she’s over it too, like she’s poking a green bruise instead of a stab wound. I don’t know what to say and I fold my shirt sleeve up, pressing a thicker wad of fabric to the still bleeding wound. 

“I don’t…I mean, who cares what she thinks?” 

“You do.” There’s no room for argument and her eyes blaze. 

“I’ve never cared before that my mom doesn’t like you.” 

Fuse sighs, swallowing hard and looking over her shoulder in the vague direction of her house. 

“You’re hurt.” She looks at my arm, trying feebly to make an excuse to herself. 

“Tell me something, what happens if we aren’t married and you have our twins?” I don’t recognize my own quiet voice, like I’m picturing a future without me in it and realizing I don’t think that it looks much different than one with me. Maybe this is how Fuse sees the future. 

“If we’re married and you die and our kids are heirs,” she hiccups across the word, trailing off and hoping for me to fill in for her. I’m out of practice and apparently out of touch because I have no idea what she wants me to say. 

“Then my entire family will be there to help.” It’s true and maybe that truth is what Fuse doesn’t like because her face crumples, “they will–”

“And what about my family? What about me? If you aren’t around, what’s to stop them from being so caught up in all of the Haddock-Hofferson drama of the week?” 

“You are,” I want to move towards her but my feet are stuck to the ground. "That’s what you do for me, isn’t it?“ 

"I tried,” she sniffs, “I just…”

“Hey, Fuse,” I try and laugh but it comes out through gravel, “maybe we can talk about a hypothetical future where I’m not dead–”

“While you bleed out?” She’s loud again, staring at my arm, and I pull up my sleeve to show her the wound. 

“It’s fine–”

“Stop saying that!” A yell, an actual yell. Her vest doesn’t smoke and she shakes with the effort to convince herself to hold back. I wish she wouldn’t. "You aren’t, nothing is fine. Everything is changing and the only thing you’ll do to stop it is get yourself hurt and maybe it’s better if I just accept that’s how it’s going to be and plan for it. Maybe it’s better if our kids are Thorstons so that I can protect them from learning the same boneheaded, dangerous things.“ 

Of all the things in Fuse’s sphere, I’m the dangerous one. 

"Fuse,” I reach for her, hand bloody and shiny in the rising moonlight and she cries harder, taking a step backwards, away from my disaster. "Fuck, I’m sorry–“

"Sorry doesn’t change anything,” she shakes her head, crying in earnest and I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know anything. "You need stitches.“ 

I guess I know one thing. 

"Ok, yeah. I’ll…ok.”


	18. Chapter 13.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuse POV

Fuse feels blasted open. Only Eret does this to her, only he makes her feel so many things at once that she can’t pick any of them apart. He defies logic, both in action and in practice and in the moment, she almost hates him for it, even though that makes the desperate, anxious, terrified love feel even heavier. She can’t get the image out of her mind of him holding the tear in his nicest shirt, the one his mom made to fit his shoulders, blood oozing again and again into the fabric until she couldn’t believe it’d ever been white.

And maybe it’s the pregnancy, or the fact that she can’t keep Eret from bleeding, no matter how hard she tries, but she knows there’s no chance of hiding anymore.

She pauses at the front door of her house, listening against the heavy, reinforced wood until she hears Chicken VII’s soft clucking inside. Her dad is home. She doesn’t think he’ll be mad, he doesn’t really get mad, not at her. Her mom might be, later, after everything is figured out and there’s time to panic, and the size of her consequences compared to Eret’s make her feel like a coward. She unclasps the vest that she barely got away with wearing to an official ceremony and the memory of how Astrid looked at her plays again in her head, even though it doesn’t matter. Even though thinking about it can’t change anything.

Fuse looks down at her stomach, smoothing her dress over it and holding the roundness from underneath with both palms. She’s not going to make her dad ask, she’s going to tell him. That’s the last thing she has control over here and she hates how it feels like spiting Eret in some aspects. Well, more than that she hates that she likes the idea of spiting Eret right now and it makes her want to put her vest back on so that she can breathe with the confidence that she won’t explode accidentally. She’s not a shaped charge right now, she knows that much, she’s built to vaporize and primed with tears.

She wipes her eyes one more time on her sleeve before opening the front door and taking a careful, light-footed step inside. Her dad’s back is to her and he doesn’t look over immediately, probably expecting her to sneak off to her bedroom like she has been.

“Dad?” She clears her throat against the sob that threatens to escape the second she opens her mouth, clenching her vest tight in a fist like it can still ground her from there. It’s sturdy, every inch of it covered in Eret’s concern, and she hates that she said what she said. She hates more that it aligned with what she felt. Feels. Hearing how horrible it sounds didn’t manage to change how she feels. “I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, sure,” her dad sounds a little too excited and Fuse resolves to fix the guilt she feels over not talking to him enough lately. That’s another thing she can get through. “Also, how’s Eret? I have to say, I like the kid for the drama, Hiccup never got knifed in front of the whole tribe like that, but it’s getting a little excessive.” 

“He’s…” Fuse’s throat twitches again with a barely held back sob and she gives into the urge to shuffle across the room and curl up next to her dad on the fur covered bench. Not that she can curl up, not really, she can’t even wrap her arms around her knees, and irrationally, that’s the realization that makes her start crying again. Useless, stupid crying. It doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make her feel better. Even her dad’s worried arm over her shoulders doesn’t help because she’s not ready for it. The rubble has to settle before anyone can try and put it back together.

“Nod once for ‘dead’ and twice for 'needs to be dead’,” her dad says seriously, “and thrice for 'other’. Not sure what 'other’ would make you cry though. Gods, you haven’t cried since you were little.”

Fuse feels Eret’s influence in every part of her when that makes her laugh, a miserable, soggy sound that doesn’t make any sense. It’s not funny, but Eret would think it is, given how many stupid tears she’s shed over the past few months. Maybe she started agreeing with him about funny when she realized how much she likes laughing with him.

The thought that he might not want to anymore after what she said triggers a new wave of tears and she hides her face in her dad’s shoulder. It would be logical for him to be wary after an explosion like that and she hates that the only thing she can count on to bring him back to her is the complete lack of self-preservation that she’s still so rightfully furious about.

“Did you hit your head?” Her dad checks her hair for a bump and that makes Fuse laugh again, raw and oddly more relieving than the tears, “get hit by lightning? This is the bad kind of mortal terror, Fusey, I only like that when it’s about me.”

“No,” she shakes her head, making herself sit up enough to look him in the eye, “no, it was just funny when you said I don’t cry because I cry all the time these days. And you don’t know that because I’ve been avoiding you.” The words hit in a way Fuse doesn’t expect and her dad’s crushed face reminds her of Eret’s again and the way he swore when he reached out to touch her but his bloody hand made him pull away. “Not because of anything you did or because I didn’t want to talk to you,” she clarifies and it only makes her dad look more worried, and there’s no putting this off any longer, “I was avoiding you because I’m pregnant.”

Chicken VII squawks. Fuse’s dad, in a motion that’s almost more shocking than Fuse laughing while crying, raises a finger to his mouth and shushes the bird.

“We’re having a conversation that doesn’t involve you,” he hisses, “I taught you better manners than that, young lady.” He looks sheepishly back up at Fuse, eyes flicking to her stomach and widening slightly, but he doesn’t say anything further. “Not you, I didn’t even try on the manners with you, I knew they wouldn’t stick.”

“I’ve known about four months,” Fuse ignores the interruption as best as she can, focusing on the instant relief that comes with shedding the secret. She’s not good at secrets and as awful as it was to tell Eret what she’s been thinking and fearing, she does feel lighter. Mostly a terrifying, untethered kind of lighter, like the bomb blasted her free of something with no plan for a soft landing. That’s what her dad’s for, though, she hopes. “I knew you couldn’t keep the secret if I told you and I knew I couldn’t lie to you, so I avoided you.”

“This is a talk I always expected to have with Darren.”

“Girls don’t talk to Darren.” Fuse frowns and her dad shakes his head, expression still a little blank at the news.

“No, he’d be the pregnant one. Nevermind, not important.” He looks at her stomach again, “you’re not just a little bit pregnant there, honey, that’s–I don’t know whether I should tell you I’m impressed at how you hid it or not, but I am. Vest off and just, bam, Loki-ing me in my own house.”

“We think it might be twins.” It seems important to dispense information slowly, a pebble at a time, like she’s balancing a scale against something volatile and precious.

“Twins,” her dad blinks, “it has been a little boring around here.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Fuse corrects him matter-of-factly, “it’s been a mess. Eret and I just fought, I said some really hard things and now I’m worried he’ll never talk to me again.” Saying it plainly makes it hurt more and less at the same time, like Nightmare Gel on a burn to ward off infection.

“He’s dramatic and twitchy and has that whole nasal voice thing–anyway, he’s not stupid, Fuse. I don’t think there’s anything you could say to change the weird, glazed-eyed, sappy way he looks at you.” Her dad looks at her stomach again, nodding like he’s getting used to the idea, “and that’s a good thing, considering you two probably have to get married now. Oh Hel, you were pregnant when the chief was asking me about that, does he know?”

“Not unless Eret told him,” Fuse sighs, “which I doubt. If anything he went straight to tell his mom.”

“I don’t think that door is Astrid proof, maybe we should move this conversation to your shed.”

“I’m not scared of her.”

“This is a truth zone, honey, no brave face necessary.”

“No,” Fuse insists, “I’m not scared of her. That’s part of what I said, I–I don’t know where to start, Dad. It was just everything all at once and I’ve been trying so hard to be calm while Eret fixes the mess that I made of that princess’s island, but I can’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

“Oh, Fuse,” her dad kisses her forehead, “you’re terrifying and since you were eight years old, I’ve been more than a little intimidated by the force of nature I’d created. Now, I know I’m right.” He takes her hand in his, “and you’re pregnant. When your mom was pregnant with you, she burned all my pants one time because hers didn’t fit. It’s not a logical time, even for you.”

“That’s another part of it,” she sighs, “I have to be more than myself, like Eret is, he’s always better than what he should be. He always has more to give even when logically, he shouldn’t have anything left. Hel, tonight he was trying to comfort me while I just listed off everything I could throw at him.”

“You know, if I’d known you were pregnant, I might have acted a little differently when the chief asked me to help him talk to you about it.” Her dad shrugs, “might have, it was really fun to get the vein in his forehead going, just like old times but…you know Hiccup really dragged his foot about getting married and it got him and Astrid and Eret the Original into a lot of dragon dung. Why aren’t you marching Eret the Second Draft into a marriage contract with some fancy bomb held over his head?”

Fuse never expects the anger that flashes through her when people suggest that she’d blow Eret up. This is no different and she yanks her hand away from her dad.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking, Fuse,” her dad is unusually grim and serious and Fuse freezes, “you’ve got a couple of Haddock heirs cooking there and they’ll only be Haddocks if you and Eret are married. I won’t, unless you ask me to, but I could kill that kid for leaving you with this decision–”

“He’s not,” Fuse shakes her head, “he asked me months ago to let the princess marry us, but I don’t want to. I’m not ready for everything to change.” For the first time in her life, Fuse understands the way that Eret’s eyes light up when he struggles through saying something painful out loud. She didn’t know the truth until she heard it and it’s like her compass needle finding North after spinning for what feels like months. “I’m happy with the way things are, I’m happy being a Thorston, I’m happy with Eret. But everything is changing anyway. I didn’t want to tell anyone that I’m pregnant because if I could hide it, no one else acted like things were different. But that’s not logical, things were different–are different–whether people see it or not.”

It feels like grieving, in a way. All of a sudden realizing that she’ll never do anything again without thinking of babies and eventually kids. And she’s happy about it in theory, she didn’t lie to Eret. She’s happy when she thinks of a little red-head, rolling their eyes and setting their jaw in fearless determination. But she’s losing things too, flexibility, freedom, the choice to apply all of herself to solving a problem or making something. And it hurts to realize that she’s already lost it, babies don’t start changing things when they’re born, it starts way earlier than that. It started the first time she moved a charge to her shoulder pocket, already planning to shield the slow growing idea of child from the pain that she doesn’t think about.

Bombs didn’t used to feel dangerous at all. Then they felt dangerous around Eret and now, she’s always around Eret because she hopes to all the Gods in Valhalla that all the best parts of him are happening again.

“I have to ask,” her dad smiles slightly, “what were you going to do if you ended up having these babies without anyone to claim them?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Fuse frowns, “they’d be Thorstons.”

“And you’re ok with that?”

“More than ok with it,” she looks at her hands, scarred but not bandaged, the line under her fingernails uncomfortably clean. She can imagine a ring on these hands the way she usually can’t. “I hate thinking about giving it up.”

“Oh honey,” her dad pulls her into a tight hug, patting her on the shoulder unusually gently, “wow, you’re really pregnant there. This is a lot. Where was I? Oh right, I love you, and you’re the best Thorston Loki has ever imbued with a talent for chaos and the good looks to get away with it.” He pulls back to look at her purposefully, “but you’ve got to do what’s right for you and now those babies. And if I’m a grandpa to Thorstons, great. As long as it’s not a Jorgenson and you’re happy, I’m fine with it.”

“That doesn’t help me decide what to do.”

“I can’t do that,” he stands up, “I can only back you up. Well, and I can feed you. And loan you half of a zippleback, if you need it, but you have to leave the other half attached and I don’t have Ruffnut on board with loaning out Barf and Belch right now so I’d have to ask her first.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Fuse accepts the hand he offers and stands up, leaning back slightly to find her balance. It’s been shifting the past couple of weeks and her lower back feels like molten iron hardening on her bones. Eret would rub it, even if he were mad, and thinking about it almost restarts the stupid, tired tears. “Don’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t have told you without talking to Eret first.”

He nods, “you should get some sleep. You’re sleeping for three now.”

“That’s not how that works,” she shakes her head at him, wanting one last hug but wanting more to feel like she can support herself, so she holds off, looking purposefully at her door. “But I am tired, so goodnight, Dad. Thanks.”

She expects falling asleep to be hard, to be stuck on the day and everything that happened, but she’s out before she takes her boots off.


	19. Chapter 13.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid POV

“That’s a way to end a feast,” Astrid walks the opposite direction of the straggling crowd, streaming slowly from the great hall’s doors. Hiccup shakes his head, his eyes emerald storm clouds as he stares towards the door Eret slipped out of a second ago. 

“I’ve got to go get him.” He starts that direction but Astrid catches his arm. 

“Let him cool off.” 

“You mean because of the blood loss?” He snaps, wit honed to a fine point. "Yeah, I bet he’ll cool off pretty quick once he passes out.“ 

"What are you talking about?” She cocks her head. 

“What am I talking about?” Hiccup laughs, “our son just got stabbed, right here, in fact.” He looks down at his boot and smudges a drop of blood across the worn wooden floor, “this blood loss is the specific loss of blood to which I’m currently referring. You saw that, right?” 

“He’s fine,” she grabs his shoulders, idly stroking the ancient bear skin cape, “he ran off after Fuse fast enough.” That doesn’t instill any confidence and she sighs, adjusting his collar and stepping closer, “it’s his arm–”

“This time.” 

Astrid thinks back to Eret’s stressed, pinched expression before the chief, asking if he was ready, and maybe it’s the cape or the old building or their son’s bravery, but Stoick’s presence feels a little heavier than normal. A little more intentional. 

“I don’t know, I thought it was brave.” She starts carefully, gauging Hiccup’s reaction. There’s not much of one, honestly, a twitch of his jaw, a deepening of his frown. "A little stupid and dramatic because there was no way that knife was making it across the room but…brave.“ 

"No one can say Eret isn’t brave.” 

“More than that though, I think your dad would say that he is brave and not many people can claim that.” Mentioning his dad deflates him and Astrid presses forward carefully. "And you know, before the feast while I was fixing his shirt, he talked to me about what’s been bothering him.“ 

"I already told you, Fuse doesn’t want to get married, for some reason. And this is entirely different–”

“No, not about that,” she rolls her eyes. She’s more sure than ever about that, given the way that Fuse hid behind Arvid all night and wore her bulky leather vest to a feast. That and Arvid has been working overtime on the house, like he knows something official that he won’t let on. It still shocks her that out of all of her kids, she’s somehow ok with Arvid lying to her, even if it’s by omission. "About why he’s been so stressed and distant lately. Apparently, he thinks that you think he’s not good enough to be chief and he’s thordamned near killing himself trying to prove he is.“ 

"Right, I saw the killing himself part.” Hiccup sighs, shoulders heavy as he looks at the drying blood on the floor. 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“You didn’t ask me a question.” 

Astrid resists the urge to hit him, because it doesn’t seem like the time, “why haven’t you made him chief yet? He’s been handling almost everything for years now, he has Aurelia backing him up. Even Ingrid waits for his say so. The village trusts him and he reminds me so much of your dad sometimes–”

“Yeah, he reminds me of my dad too. My son just jumped in front of a knife thrown in my direction,” he’s pale and it makes him look old in a way she rarely notices. The silver hair never quite drowns out the enthusiasm in his eyes, but there’s none of that there now, only a bone deep pain that didn’t set in until his leg had been gone for years. “Without question, without any regard for his own safety or the situation or…” He trails off with a heavy sigh and rakes his hand through his hair. "Believe me, I want to retire, I just–he’s not ready.“ 

"Why not?” It’s out of the blue and she can’t help but be a little irritated that she’s been left out of his entire thought process on the subject, “isn’t it a little twisted to say he’s not ready to be chief because he’s too selfless and too ready to put himself in danger to protect people?” 

“That’s the thing though, he’s so selfless that he’s aimless. You say he’s damn near killing himself to prove to me how ready he is to be chief, but I have no idea what he’d do with it. He’s got no direction just…a pathological need to protect people or keep them happy–he won’t make the decisions that make people angry–”

“Says the guy who’s spent hours fighting with him about whether killing dragon trappers is wrong.” 

“That’s different, he argues with me about everything.” 

“So it’s because he doesn’t agree with you?” 

“No, that’s not–he’s not making decisions, Astrid, not really. He does things to keep people from getting upset, not because he thinks they’re the right thing to do, and that’s not the way a chief has to think.” He gestures to the floor, that smear of darkened red, “he gets stabbed so that no one else gets stabbed, he doesn’t think about the alternative where no one gets stabbed. There’s a difference between taking input and letting other people make decisions for you because they’ll be upset if you don’t do everything they want. As furious as I was with him four years ago, I liked how he handled the dragons, how he fought for what he believed in, even if it was controversial. The last time I saw anything like that from him was at the dock a couple months ago when he decided not to leave, Aurelia was mad about him sending Arvid and he shut her down, he made a call. And I hoped it was the start of a trend, but if anything, he’s gotten worse since. Those crazy six hour flights? He was walking around bow-legged for weeks rather than piss some people off by being gone or staying here or sending someone. And he’s miserable about whatever’s going on with Fuse not wanting to get married–”

“You lose me there.” She almost tells him her theory, almost lists off all of her evidence as to why it’s literally impossible that Fuse isn’t trying to drag Eret’s stubborn ass to a wedding, but she bites her tongue. 

“He’s going through the right motions, sure, he’s a favorite around the village, he managed this last disaster with a lot of maturity and I think Berk would be fine if Eret were chief. I really do.” He shakes his head, “but he wouldn’t, and I’m not just chief, I’m his father, whether he acknowledges that or not, and I want him not to be miserable and stabbed and constantly overworked. And frankly, those are the least of my concerns right now, I have no reason to believe that the next thing he jumps into or in front of or…I don’t know, he’s really creative, but the next guy might have better aim.” That thought hangs heavy and Hiccup stands up a little straighter, content he made his point. "He can’t be the future of Berk if I’m not sure he has a future.“


	20. Chapter 13.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eret Sr. POV

Eret jumps at the knock on his cabin door, shifting from half asleep to on guard and wide awake in an instant. There’s no reason to think there’s trouble, but given his experience with brief periods of peace, they make trouble more likely instead of less. The second knock is comfortingly impatient, the pattern of knuckles on the wood familiar in the way that’s still nostalgic even after four years away. 

“Are you asleep?” Astrid’s voice is muffled but loud enough that it would have woken him up. She knows that, of course, she knows how to wake him up, but she’s giving him an out. He almost takes it, almost snuffs out the single candle on the ledge and waits for her to leave. 

It’s still tense when they’re alone together, it’s never quite obvious how comfortable they’re supposed to act, what pieces of their past they’re allowed to lean on. 

“Are you alone?” She says more quietly and he can hear her curled lip, that jealousy she can only show his door. 

Maybe he likes that she’s jealous, even if she’s jealous of nothing. But it makes this feel real instead of like a dream he could pretend to forget in the morning and he gets up to open the door. She’s dressed for a feast, clothes clean and new like a physical distance between them. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t take her usual step back, she doesn’t need to, they exist on different planes now, it doesn’t matter if they’re on the same ship. 

“I’m alone.” 

“Good,” she straightens her dress, “I need to talk to you.”

“I have to be alone for that?” 

Her eyebrows knit together in a stern glare and she weighs taking that bait for a second before sighing, shoulders slumping forward as she takes a long awaited step back. Eret holds onto the door frame to suppress the urge to follow, watching her face crumple and reassemble itself into the vulnerable mask he hasn’t seen in decades. 

“We need to talk about Eret.” The tension between them melts immediately, worry settling thick in its place. 

“Is he ok?” 

“If he’s not, it’s my fault.” She sighs, leaning back against the railing and shaking her head. "If. How can I talk about if right now?“ 

"What happened?” If it were an emergency, someone would have come to get him, he’s sure of that, but Astrid’s face is no great comfort. 

“The brave little…asshole jumped in front of a throwing knife, took it right to the forearm, thank the Gods it was a shitty throw.” She rubs her temple, “and he got up and made a joke and I didn’t think anything of it until Hiccup was cutting the feast short and–I think–no, I know, I–He’s not Hiccup.” 

“Well, he’s half Hiccup, at least.” He’s not quite following her, but she’s obviously upset, and he wonders why she’s bringing this to him instead of her husband, especially since she seems to want to talk about that husband.

“We both did it, we talked about it so many times, we made so many decisions based on it, but we were wrong, we were both so wrong and now…” She exhales, “we spent so much time and energy keeping him from inheriting that big Haddock head and he doesn’t have it, that’s for sure. It’s all hair.” 

Her laugh is bitter and miserable and the wrong shape and size for her, one of those Haddock things they’d shared sideways glances at the dinner table over and Eret struggles to see her point. It’s infectious and dangerous and spreading even now and Astrid doesn’t see it. 

“I think if his arm is ok–”

“It’s not about his arm, it’s about–I don’t know, I don’t get it, Hiccup gets it and I don’t know how.” She starts pacing, holding her wrists behind her back, “I don’t know how there’s some part of our son–”

“Why are you here?” Eret snaps and Astrid pauses, raising an eyebrow. 

“Because I don’t know how there’s some part of our son, yours and mine, who knows him better than we do. I don’t know how someone else can explain him better than we can.” 

There are dark circles under her eyes and she’s frayed, frazzled, deriding her edges to maintain everyone else’s interiors and Eret sighs, thinking of the son he’s so happy to hear that Astrid still thinks of as theirs. That’s how his namesake looks, running around the island, hands shaking, shouting out orders and volunteering to do them himself halfway through. 

“That’s because the chief knows you so Thor-damned well.” It’s Eret’s turn to laugh, bittersweet and out of place. He didn’t see it because it was the parts of Astrid he tried to fix, the parts that dug into him like thorns while she wore herself away trying to follow Hiccup when he didn’t want to be followed. The parts they both pretended weren’t real. 

The Hofferson altruism that can outpace even Haddock arrogance. 

“What?” She sags briefly but then stands up, setting her shoulders and swallowing hard. She looks like Eret, about to tell a joke he has to so that he can deflect the pain of the situation back onto himself instead of letting it fester in everyone else. "Don’t make this about Hiccup.“ 

Eret laughs again, internally kicking himself for not seeing it before. It was so easy to focus on everything that made their son different, the red hair and the bouncy shoulders. Maybe it made him feel better to love him in spite of those things instead of because of them, especially when Hiccup re-inserted himself into the situation, but he didn’t turn to lean on the things that made him like Astrid. The things that become so blinding when she’s dedicated to supporting Hiccup. 

And their son has been waging that war inside of himself this entire time, torn between impulse and action, between axe and shield. Between taking on the new and shouldering the old. 

And it took Hiccup to see that and say something. 

"I’m not,” he sighs, “I’m making it about you like I should have twenty one years ago.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She’s trying for a fight, because when things hurt while she’s fighting, they have a place to go, the pain can be processed instead of just sitting around. Like their son, yelling when he’s too overwhelmed to whisper. 

“He’s so much like you but we never took a minute to tell him that he can’t gain anything by throwing his own happiness on the fire to make other people happy.” 

She smiles a sad, crooked smile and he doesn’t know what he feels about the reliable set of her shoulders, the self-supporting emotion of it, like she needs to lean on someone else’s flightiness to remember how to be rigid. 

“The throwing knife, in this case, but exactly.” She nods, “I hoped you would be able to explain that to me, it was…not quite clicking before.” 

“Anytime,” he sighs, roles in this mess cemented for the first time in what feels like years but is probably more like decades. "We should go talk to him.“ 

"Yeah,” she laughs, “it’s really bad advice to tell Hiccup to let him cool off, he’ll only amp himself up in the meantime.” 

“That is definitely true,” Eret looks towards where Stormfly has been politely waiting at the bow, beak pointed forward like she’s trying to give them privacy. "I’ll turn around and meet you back on Berk, if you could wait, I want to be there.“ 

She hesitates, Stormfly’s wing flicking in conjunction with her jaw flexing. 

"I’ll ride back with you, I could use the time to think.” 

He nods a silent agreement before preoccupying himself with shifting the sails.


	21. Chapter 14

“Odin’s saggy ballsack,” I swear under my breath as the bandage around my forearm bleeds through for the third time. I can’t even feel it, I’m too sick from fighting with Fuse and tired from dealing with Elva’s visit and my head is throbbing worse than the knife wound. It reminds me that the fucker who did it is alive and in our one jail cell, because I don’t even get to make that decision.

I pause at the edge of the dark square, pressing my torn sleeve hard against the wound to try and stop the bleeding with pressure. The linen and wool soak through in a few seconds and I swear under my breath, looking up at the chief’s dark house and sighing.

I don’t want to go up there.

I don’t want the chief to see me bleed, not after tonight.

And Fuse is mad at me and I deserve it and I don’t remember the last time I felt so absolutely alone.

And my arm does need stitches, clearly, because it’s still oozing through my sleeve and dripping down the back of my hand and off my fingertips. I’m glad Bang isn’t with me, he’d be freaking out. I almost think I’d be freaking out if I had any energy left to put into it.

I look around the square again, hoping some option will jump out at me, and my eye catches on the forge’s dark windows. I bet Smitelout has a needle and some thread in there, she has to for saddles, and I’ve stitched Arvid up before. It wasn’t this big of a cut but it wasn’t hard. Luckily it’s my left arm.

I use the key I know is hidden above the door frame to let myself in and shove my bloody sleeve up to see the wound before throwing some kindling on the fire and giving myself some light. It takes a minute to tie a clean rag around my arm, just below my elbow, and tighten it enough that my fingers start to go numb and the bleeding slows down enough for me to clean the cut. It’s not even that bad, I don’t know why it won’t stop bleeding. I know it didn’t hit any big vessels because it never spurted blood, only infuriatingly oozed for hours and hours.

Finding Smitelout’s sewing kit is easy too. There aren’t any curved needles and the thinnest thread in the box is thicker than I would really like it to be, but this is better than going to the chief’s house. It’s better than admitting I fought with Fuse and not being able to tell anyone why.

She cried and I couldn’t make it better. She was crying and she was right and somehow, I really am as bad as the chief if I’ve made Fuse feel so alone. Godsdammit, I don’t know how to make this up to her or myself or anyone. I don’t know what to do.

The first stitch through my arm provides some sense of clarity, because right now, I actually do know what to do. At least for as long as it takes to sew myself up. And it’s harder to focus than I would have imagined because the slow pinch and drag of the too thick thread through my skin hurts more than I expected, even with my fingers numb from my makeshift tourniquet. My right hand starts to shake by the third stitch and luckily I’m taking a quick break when the door slams open.

“What the Hel are you doing in here, Twerp?” Smitelout stomps inside, dropping an armful of weapons on her anvil and pausing when she sees my arm on the counter.

“Oh, you know, catching up on some forging. How about yourself?” I want her to leave and unfortunately, being nice is the quickest way to make that happen.

“Are you stitching up your own fucking arm?” Her tone is irritatingly familiar and I scowl at her.

“Are you using your mom voice on me?”

“You break into my forge,” she pulls a stool over with her toe, plopping down on it and trying to take the needle from my hand. I reflexively try to keep it from her and the cord yanks my arm hard enough that I wince and whimper. She uses my one moment of weakness to snatch the needle away from me, her touch on my hand surprisingly gentle as she pulls it towards her. “You steal my favorite rag, you steal my needle and my favorite thread–”

“I’m just borrowing the needle, technically–”

“I don’t want it back, Twerp, that’s disgusting.” She presses my arm to the table and wrinkles her nose, “these stitches are awful, I really should take them out and start over.”

“I can do it myself.”

“You can botch it yourself,” she scoffs, “are you trying to prove how tough you are or something? Because I think you already bragged about that enough by taking a knife to the arm for no reason.”

“Right, I should have just let it stab the chief of an ally tribe, gotcha, I’ll keep that under advisement.”

“Hold still,” she grabs my hand, pressing the back of it flat to the counter and moving to pinch my skin together with disconcertingly gentle fingers that don’t match her tone at all. Her stitches hurt less and are closer together, her wrist moving smoothly like she does this all the time. “You should really let a healer do this, as much as I fully believe you’re as dumb as a saddle, you’re probably at least a little more complicated to put back together.”

“I always knew you liked me.”

She slaps me.

Hard, with the back of her hand, her knuckles knocking against my cheekbone as my teeth clack together with a bright burst of pain through my jaw.

“What the Hel–”

“Stop it with the tough guy shit, Eret.” She goes back to stitching up my arm, which admittedly hurts enough to distract me from the ringing in my ear from where she fucking slapped me for no reason. “You’re a mess. You apparently spent the entire evening bleeding out from the giant knife wound in your arm and no one even noticed.”

“You hit me.” I’m pouting. I’ll admit it. As if my day hasn’t been bad enough, then Smitelout has to haul off and hit me. I open and close my mouth to make sure my jaw still works and my cheek starts to prickle as I’m sure it turns red enough to match my beard.

“Someone had to.”

“I really don’t think anyone had to hit me–”

“Well, I didn’t know what else would get through that dense head of yours, Twerp.” She ties off the stitches and cuts the thread. “The first few are botched but it should hold. I can’t believe you’re so proud or stupid or I don’t even know–”

“As much as I love you propping up my self-esteem–”

“Thor-dammit, Eret, this isn’t funny.” She looks like she wants to slap me again and I almost ask her to get the other side and make it even, but the words die in my dry throat.

Smitelout looks worried.

More than that, I think she’s worried about me.

“I’m fine, Smite–”

“Don’t make me fucking hit you again,” she shoves me in the chest and I almost fall backwards off of the stool, barely managing to catch myself on the edge of the workbench. My arm flexes against the new stitches and I hiss to hold in a groan at the pain. “And don’t stress those, Thor’s beard, Twerp, you have to start taking care of yourself.”

“Not you too,” I scowl, “sorry, I’ve been a bit busy, a week long trip to the spa isn’t really in the realm of possibility right now–”

“Cut the shit. How the fuck do you expect to take care of those kids you have coming if you can’t even take care of yourself? How are you going to take care of Fuse?” She asks almost gently and that makes it sting worse.

“Fuse and I had a fight.” I cradle my forehead in my left hand, squeezing my temples like it can fend off the headache or the throbbing in my arm or the tired, itchy film across my eyes. “She’s…Gods, I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you asking me what to do?”

I look back up at her and shrug, “if you’re giving advice, I mean…Ingrid is too good for you almost as dramatically as Fuse is too good for me.”

“Gods, you’re so exhausted you can’t talk right.” She shakes her head, “go home. Talk to your mother. I have my own kid to worry about, I can’t be on your case too.”

“What do I say to her?”

“I don’t know, Twerp, have you thought about the fucking truth?” She sighs, “you know, we’re all keeping this secret for you and Fuse but what are you going to do when there are babies coming out of her? It’s already near impossible to hide.”

“I know that,” I squint my eyes shut, “I know it’s–can I just sleep here? I’ll be out by morning–”

“No, you can’t,” she grabs my left hand and yanks me to my feet before shoving me at the door with rough hands on my shoulders, “I’m officially evicting you. Go talk to your mother. Try and infuse some of the truth in there. Do you need a snack?”

“Huh?” I trip on the door jamb and turn back to look at her. “A snack?”

“You lost a lot of blood, you must be light-headed. Do you want a snack?”

My stomach growls, answering for me, and I don’t actually remember eating anything at the feast, I was so busy running interference for Fuse and Elva and diving in front of throwing knives.

“Yeah, I could use a snack.”

She reaches into her pocket and tosses me a small bag of what feels and smells like fish jerky and I open it, shoving two pieces into my mouth and swallowing almost before I can chew them. She wrinkles her nose.

“Go home, Twerp.”

“Yeah.” I look up at the chief’s house and scuff my boot on the ground. “Thanks. Why do you have snacks in your pocket anyway?”

“I have a two year old.” She rolls her eyes, “don’t make me chase you home.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “I’m going, I just–”

“I don’t care,” she slams the forge door behind her, taking the spare key from it’s hiding place, “I’ve got to find a new place for this so that bleeding future chiefs don’t fuck with my shit anymore.”

Future chief. Yeah. Right. Like that’s ever going to happen.

Oddly, it’s just the depressing thought I need to force my feet to move.

“Goodnight, Smitelout.” I wave at her as I start shuffling up the hill, staring at the stitches on my arm briefly before pulling my sleeve down to cover them. Mom doesn’t need to know about those. She’d just worry.

I feel like anyone I tell the truth to would worry. Maybe I’m worried.

Gods, I’m so worried. I’m worried about Fuse and the fact that I’m at exactly the same point in my life that I was at four years ago. Everyone else is moving forward and I’m just stuck here, almost chief, still not good enough.

The house is quiet except for the crackle of a low fire in the hearth and Stoick’s dragon is snoozing peacefully in front of it. I pause in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust, and more than that deciding whether I’m staying or not. Smitelout is right, as hard as it is to admit. I need to talk to Mom.

But the thing that no one ever says is that even if the right thing is obvious, it still takes effort.

I’d still have to walk inside, walk up to the bedroom door, knock, wake Mom up. Ask her to come talk to me. And that’s the easy part, then I’d have to sit down and tell her the truth while she’s looking straight through me and worrying. I should be able to handle this myself. I shouldn’t have to bring her into it.

“Fuck,” I sigh, stepping inside and shutting the door hard behind me.

“What did that door do to you?” The chief’s voice startles me as he comes down the stairs, barely there smile apologetic and irritatingly hopeful that I’m not mad. I wish I were, that’d be easier. “I thought you’d grown out of slamming things.” 

“Never,” I barely get the word out, throat closing in on itself, threatening to make me sob or pass out or I don’t know what else. I swallow hard and try to cough, the world spinning around me when I close my eyes. I open them to the same chief standing in the same place, but he looks more like a mirror than ever, more like a sad inevitability I don’t know if I’ll never live up to. "Where’s Mom?“ 

"Are you ok?” He asks, taking a hesitant step towards me, hand outstretched like I’m a dragon in need of training. He’s not mad anymore, he’s worried too, and I wish he’d yell at me instead of looking concerned. I walked out on a direct order, he should yell at me. If he yells at me, I’ll yell back, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s calm. 

“No,” I laugh, chest tight and eyes prickling like I’m going to cry. That’s the last thing I want him to see. "I’m really not, but…“ My knees wobble, I catch myself on the edge of the table and my arm smarts, the sting traveling straight up my arm to my eyes, making them blur. 

"What’s wrong?” His voice is low, comforting, and I want it to work, I want it to make my heart stop throbbing and my head stop spinning. "Is it your arm?“ 

"No, I’m fine.” The words echo in my head like it’s a cave with no exit, each repetition making me feel more and more trapped. 

“You just said you weren’t, Eret,” he takes a step towards me, a dwindling candle on the table catching his face at the right angle to make him look younger, like he’s just another person I should be able to take care of. "Do you–“

"I’m good,” I lie, voice shaking, back of my throat again threatening to sob. Or maybe throw up this time, I’m not sure, and I wish I hadn’t eaten anything. "Really, Chief.“ 

It hurts him when I call him chief. I know that it used to, but I would have thought he’d be used to it by now. Maybe he is used to it and that’s why the flicker in his expression is so quickly glossed over. He puts himself together faster than he fell apart and it almost makes me want to lean on him, like I could learn how to be that sturdy if I did. 

"Do you need anything?” He offers, easy smile as disarming as Aurelia’s but completely lacking intent. His usual will to make me like him is replaced with something genuine, but it’s so seamless that I think maybe I’ve been wrong about it for a while. "Some water? A doctor? A hug?“ 

I tug at my sleeve, making sure the stitches are covered. I probably should have washed the blood off of my hand. And my shirt. And my other hand. 

"I’m good.” Saying it doesn’t make it more true and I double down, “do you need anything, Chief?” 

“If you’re offering, I could go with that hug.” He opens his arms, ready to laugh about being rejected, and I just don’t have the energy to hate him right now. I don’t want to. I want to lean on something I’m not holding up. 

“Ok,” I cross the room and hug him, hooking my chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight enough that the new stitches on my arm burn. I really might cry now, I’m not sure why this is pushing it over the edge, but my eyes prickle and I glare at the wall behind him, trying to slow my breathing. It doesn’t work. He thumps me on the shoulder, gently, carefully, and the sobs I couldn’t put onto Fuse start coming out, burning in my throat, scraping every raw thing that was said and making it hurt all over again. 

“Whoa,” the chief starts rubbing my back like my mom used to when I was little and couldn’t stop crying. 

I feel pathetic but trying to stop makes it worse, my chest throbbing with the force of the sobs tearing their way out as the chief keeps rubbing my back, coaxing it out of me. Maybe it’s good, maybe I just need to get rid of some of it and then I can deal with the rest. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” his tone is easy, controlled, and I cling to it, pressing my face into his shoulder where the wool absorbs the tears. I’m probably getting snot on him, but he doesn’t seem to care. "It’s ok.“ 

"It’s really not,” I blubber, pulling away and scrubbing my eyes with my clean sleeve like I can rub away the outer layer and start fresh with one that’s less pathetic. When I cough out another sob, the chief hugs me again, thumping on my back like I’m choking and he’s shaking it loose. Maybe it works. Maybe it was already loose and he’s just willing to catch anything I throw at him. "Fuse and I had a fight, I don’t think we’ve ever had an actual fight before.“ 

"Do you want to talk about it?” He lets me take a step back and I wipe my eyes again, breath shaky. He’s shorter than me but it doesn’t stop the sudden urge to tuck myself into his chest, to get small and easier to shelter and protect. 

I could tell him. I don’t know how Fuse would ever forgive me if I did, but I don’t know how she’s going to forgive me anyway. If it were Mom, I’d want it to be a happy thing, I’d want to be excited and not crying like a pathetic child, but it’s the chief. He knows what it feels like to be conflicted about being a dad, to feel alone, to be unprepared and outside where he wants to be. 

I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet. 

“Ok,” he pulls out a chair at the table and sits down, “let’s talk, I’m sure we can figure this out.” 

I sit across from him, staring at my hands. 

“What did you and Fuse fight about?” 

“She was mad that I took that knife to the arm,” I shrug, sniffing and wiping my dripping nose on my sleeve, “or at least that’s how it started. I–and it spiraled. And I made her cry and I couldn’t make it better and I just…I ask too much of her, you know? I’m asking so much of her.” 

“Hey, from what I know about Fuse, she’s not exactly going around doing what’s asked of her,” the chief puts his hand on mine and I don’t shove it off, “so I don’t think you can put that all on yourself.” 

“This is different.” 

“How so?” 

I take a deep breath and look up at him, “she’s pregnant.” 

His face is blank for a long second, his hand cool and still on mine. I wait for him to brag or be cocky or yell at me. I wait for him to produce a contract from one of his pockets and try and make me sign it. He doesn’t do any of those things. His smile is slow and cautious, eyebrows worried as he squeezes my hand. 

“Ok, that’s–give me just a second here,” he sits up straight and runs his hands back through his hair, “I’m going to be a grandpa, wow, that’s–how long have you known?” He redirects the focus to me and I don’t know why I laugh, probably because I’m straight out of tears, but it’s hoarse and tired. 

“About four months.” 

The chief doesn’t answer immediately, face waffling between happy and solid and excited. I try and tuck my hair back into its tie but give up, taking it out entirely and barely resisting the urge to start hitting my head on the table. 

“A reaction would be–”

“So it’s been a secret,” the chief cuts me off. "Probably a pretty big secret if you’ve known for four months.“ 

"Honestly, probably a larger secret than you’re thinking because it’s probably twins.” I laugh again, miserable, and he exhales like the revelation physically hit him in the chest. "Fuse doesn’t want to tell anyone, she’s going to be pissed that I told you. Pissed and confused, you’re the last person I thought I’d tell.“ 

"Sounds about right.” 

“I couldn’t take the thought of you hearing and thinking you won, that you finally had your chance to force me into marriage, but…”

“Would I be forcing you?” He asks gently and I shrug one shoulder. 

“Not really. Not anymore, I–Fuse though.” Her words from earlier ring in my ears in time with my arm’s throbbing and I wipe my nose again, “neither of us were ready for things to change, but they’re changing anyway and well, I–earlier when we were fighting, she said maybe it’s better if our kids are Thorstons if I’m going to keep being so reckless,” I push my sleeve up and show him my stitches, “because of the whole Haddock mess with heirs, I guess.” 

“Eret–”

“And I’m starting to wonder if she’s right.” All the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head start to crystallize and I think about Smitelout being worried about me and Aurelia’s fond annoyance and Fuse. Mostly Fuse. Fuse crying. Fuse needing me to be something I should be able to be. "I’m not someone she can trust or follow or depend on, I’m…and she sees it now and I’m scared. I’m so scared.“ I jump up, pacing back and forth. Before tonight, I never really put much thought into why Fuse never pushed to marry me, instead assuming it was contingent on me being chief or something. But maybe she just couldn’t handle her kids being half-Haddock disasters like their dad. "Hel, do you think Ingrid would honor kill me? I don’t think I want Tuffnut doing it, that sounds painful–”

“No one is honor killing anyone,” the chief says in the tone that makes it law, “you and Fuse are going to have fights, Eret, you’re going to have so many fights and something like a single fight isn’t enough to change how she sees you.” 

“This is bigger than that. It’s not just a fight, it’s–” 

“Can I ask you something?” He cuts me off before I can find the word for what a frost giant sized turd of a situation I’m in. I shrug. "What do you want?“ 

"What do I want?” I laugh, “that’s funny, chief–”

“No, it’s not. I’m serious. I see you running yourself into the ground trying to make everyone around you happy, trying to be who everyone else thinks you should be. What would you do to make yourself happy? What do you want?” 

“I…” I sigh, deflating slightly, “I want everyone to be safe.” 

“No, that’s not an answer,” he insists and anger flares enough to overwhelm my sadness, even for just a second. 

“What do you want me to say then?” 

“You don’t see it,” he sighs, “you’re so much like your mom. And my dad,” his smile is sad and proud and I could crumple under it, the weight of that statue’s eyes on my shoulders on top of everything else. "You don’t get to decide for everyone to be safe.“ 

"Because I’m not chief yet,” I snap and his eyes drop to my arm. 

“Trust me, if being chief could keep people safe, you’d be a lot less stabbed all the time.” 

“I’m fine,” I don’t believe it and he doesn’t either. It’s too close to what Fuse said, to what Smitelout said, to what must be the truth because the most unapologetic people I know are all orbiting around it. 

“What do you want, Eret? If instead of making up some answer that you think I want to hear or you think is the most self-sacrificial you actually thought about what you want, what would it be?” 

The chief is the last person who’d ever call me selfish and I hate that it feels protective right now. I hate how good it feels to let myself think selfishly, to catalog the mental and physical bumps and bruises and weaknesses I want to hide and to put them first, even theoretically. I swallow hard, forcing my voice louder than the scared whisper it wants to be. 

“I want Fuse.” I sit back down, collapsing into how tired I am, arm throbbing like it’s on fire, head aching, “I want Fuse and I want to wake up next to her more often than not. I want everything with the babies to be ok, and I know I’m not supposed to decide for other people to be safe right now, but I’m going to anyway. I want them to be safe. And I want to start living my life instead of waiting for it to start.” I want to be chief but I don’t say it, because something about this conversation with…my father is making me feel like nearly killing myself for the title hasn’t convinced him of anything. "And I think I could go with being stabbed a little less. It does really hurt, it just hurts less than anyone else getting stabbed.“ 

"Sounds to me like you need to go talk to Fuse.” 

I nod, “I’ll go now, I doubt she’s sleeping any better than I am.” I jump to my feet but he stops me with a wincing look. "What now? Is that not the right decision or–“

"Stop second guessing yourself,” he gestures at me, “I was just going to suggest that you change out of your bloody clothes. Maybe get a bandage on those stitches. If you’re feeling really wild you could wash the blood off your hand. Gods, you’re a mess.” He laughs and I join him, wiping my hand over my face and nodding. 

“Yeah. I am, aren’t I?” I shake my head, “I’ll change and then I’ll go talk to her.” 

“Good plan.” He pats my shoulder as he stands up and I let him, “and you know you have to tell your mother about this tomorrow, right?” 

“You won’t?” 

“It’s not my secret to tell, but I think you know how much trouble we’ll both be in if we make her wait much longer.” His whisper is conspiratorial and I scoff. 

“What do you mean? I’m already in trouble.” 

“But I’m not. I could still help you if you stay ahead of that.” 

I hug him again before I can convince myself not to, thumping on his back with my good hand and laughing when it makes him wheeze, “I’ll take you up on that.” Maybe it’s because he’s not looking at me hopefully or expectantly when I pull away, but I can’t call him chief, not now. "Grandpa.“ 

"Don’t go making me cry,” he points towards the stairs, “go change, go figure this out.” 

“I’m going,” I tiptoe upstairs, trying to think of what the Hel I’m going to say. 

I need to propose, I know that much, but more than that I need to do it in a way Fuse will agree with. And not just agree with, I need her to get it, I need it to be a decision that feels right to her, because she doesn’t do anything that doesn’t feel right and I love that about her. She’s more gut feeling than I am, she can’t push through months and months of being generally uncomfortable with her convictions for a cause. I finally feel like that’s straightened out for me though and I try not to fixate now on the fact that the chief is the one who helped me reorient. 

A bandage over my arm makes the stitches throb more but burn less and clean clothes make me feel like I’m not quite so walking wounded. My eyes are dry though and no amount of blinking lets me forget the crying I just did, but maybe it’ll incite some pity to make Fuse listen to me. 

I’ve never doubted that she’d talk to me quite like this, except maybe when I feared she’d heard I was engaged to someone else, and even then I assumed she would know it wasn’t my doing. 

I hope the chief is wrong about how many fights we’re going to have, but I doubt it. All my siblings bicker with their wives or in Aurelia’s case, husband, but that’s kind of double counting. Maybe I thought if Fuse and I didn’t get married, we wouldn’t have to deal with all of the supposedly normal married things that I didn’t and don’t like the sound of, but there’s no benefits either, not anymore. Not for a while, probably even before she got pregnant. 

It’s almost sunrise when I go back downstairs, a thin gray line breaking the dark horizon, and the chief isn’t anywhere to be seen, which means he probably went to bed. I’m glad about that, as much as I appreciate last night, I don’t want a rehash right now because if there’s ever a time I need to keep myself together it’s now, and I’m worried I’m still unfortunately close to crying again if someone were nice to me. And that’s why I stop short when I open the front door to see Mom and Dad climbing the hill, chatting comfortably in a way that makes me wary for whatever brought them pleasantly together, because usually that only happens when one of us does something wrong. 

“Glad we caught you,” Mom zeroes in on me with peak efficiency and I look over my shoulder, like the closed front door will either produce an escape route or an answer to who got my parents involved. Oddly, I don’t blame the chief, it seemed like he meant it when he said he wouldn’t tell her until I had a chance to figure things out with Fuse. "Can I make you breakfast?“ 

My stomach growls. She drives a hard bargain and I look at Dad, trying to figure out their intent. If it’s just a stitches check, I could stay for some food, but Dad’s face is a trap, easy going smile luring me into some sort of lecture that requires their joined forces. 

"I already ate,” I lie, patting my stomach and half expecting it to echo like a drum. 

“A second breakfast then,” she bribes me and I must have done something really objectionable for her to be luring me back inside this hard. 

“I can’t right now,” I take Smitelout’s advice and infuse a little truth into the situation, and it’s not even a lie, I really can’t focus on anything until I see Fuse and know there’s some chance of her forgiving me and marrying me and moving forward. 

She looks like she’s going to argue with that but Dad puts a hand on her arm, and she closes her mouth and nods, “dinner then?” 

“I really don’t know how my day’s going to go, guys.” I take a side step to move around them and I think Mom is going to try and stop me, but instead she hugs me, too tight, hooking her chin over my shoulder and squeezing. "Hi, Mom, what’s going on?“ I look over at Dad, "is everything ok?” 

“As long as you’re ok,” he nods towards my arm, the bandage peeking out from under my half-pushed up sleeve, “did you get that taken care of?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I hug Mom back with the hope that it’ll make her let me go so that I can breathe, but it doesn’t quite work like that. Her hair smells like saltwater and she’s still wearing her clothes from the feast last night, so there’s no armor or thick leather jabbing me and making this uncomfortable, and it’s about comforting enough to restart the tears, so I put gentle hands on her shoulders and try to pry her off. "You good?“ I ask when I’m finally successful, even though she’s still holding one of my arms like she doesn’t want me to get away. 

"I won’t keep you,” she takes a step back and I have all of a second to breathe before Dad is picking me up in an Arvid style bear hug that makes me feel small for the first time in a while. 

“Dad! Put me down!”

“Sorry,” he brushes off my shoulders when he does, grinning in a way that’s out of place with the majority gray of his hairline. "Just wanted to see if I still could.“ 

"I think you knew you could, it’s whether you should,” I jokingly chastise him, straightening my shirt and pointing over my shoulder, “so I’ve got to go if neither of you have to assault me again.” 

“I’m good for now,” Mom hesitates a little before continuing, “try and have fun today.” 

I look at Dad for confirmation that she’s been hit very hard on the head but he just nods at me like this is normal and that’s a normal Mom thing to say. 

“What’s fun?” I joke, playing into whatever strange act this is and Mom’s fragile smile evaporates. She looks at Dad and they share some silently communicated thing, like they used to when I was little and they were trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. It looks weird to me now and maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the blood loss or the crying, but everything is starting to feel off kilter, like I’m on an island very similar to the Berk I know. "I’ll uh…see you guys later, alright?“ 

"Sure,” Dad nods, hand on Mom’s elbow as the urges her towards the door. She doesn’t shrug him off, just keeps looking at me with that worried expression, and I hop onto Bang for the short distance rather than feel their eyes on me as I walk away. 

Bang finds a soft pile of hay with Hotgut outside of the Thorston-Ingerman barn and I walk the rest of the way to the Thorston front door, wiping my hands on my pants and building up the courage to knock. I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, but I guess it depends on how Fuse acts when she sees me. I brace other hand to catch the door and hold it if she tries to slam it in my face and then knock three times, like I do on her shed door, the sound of the fire proof wood echoing around my rattled brain. 

The door opens. 

Tuffnut has a black eye that he’s holding an ice block to but he sets it down when he sees me, gesturing at my face with an easy, wincing smile. 

“Hey, twins.” 

My heart drops, “she told you?” 

This is when it happens. The honor kill. I think he has a mace in there somewhere and of all the days to be honor killed, I think that’s at the bottom of my list. It’s a bone crunching, blood-spraying way to go and I don’t trust him to do it in a single hit. I should have asked Ingrid, I should have brought Ingrid alone, just in case it came to this. 

“What?” He cocks his head and then nods, “oh, yeah, she did, but I wasn’t talking about that.” He points at his eye and then to my face, “we’re facial bruising twins, looks good dude.” 

“Huh?” I pat my cheek to figure out what he’s talking about and hiss, because it’s tender along my cheekbone and jaw, pulpy and slightly swollen in that new bruise way. "Fuck,“ I wince, testing my expression and flinching when a deep frown pulls at the skin, "Smitelout.” 

“Mine is my sister’s handiwork,” he picks up the block of ice and hesitates before offering it to me, “I can get another.” 

“No thanks,” I shift between my feet, trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Pockets seems too casual and not optimal for blocking the mace swing I’m sure is coming. Hands out in front feel like surrender, which is only half what I’m here to do, except it’s not really a surrender, it’s just a new understanding of the solution. "Um, I’m here to see Fuse.“ I point vaguely towards her closed door. 

"She’s asleep.” 

“Oh,” I hadn’t thought of that and the barely brightening dawn makes me feel dumber for it, “I can come back, I guess.” Maybe I still have time for that second breakfast Mom offered, except maybe I don’t want that because she and Dad were acting so weird. I could go by the Great Hall, I guess, I know there will be food there for Elva and her remaining people. 

Fuck, she’s still here, John is still imprisoned at the arena. Fuck. There’s too much going on. 

“You can wait here if you want,” he gestures for me to come inside and I’m sure the mace is going to come down the second I’m inside, but it doesn’t, and I take an awkward seat on a bench near the mostly burned down fire. 

“Thanks.” 

Chicken VII pecks at my boot and I lean down to pet her head. She bites me. I tuck my hands in my pockets so she can’t do it again. 

“So, pretty crazy feast last night, huh?” He sits on the ground near the hearth and feeds Chicken VII a handful of grain with the hand not holding ice to his face. "Not as crazy as Fuse hiding being pregnant for months–“

"Sorry about that–”

“No, I’m kind of impressed, you might just be trickier than you look.” He points at me and I frown. 

“Thanks?” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Another minute of awkward, heart racing silence passes and I spend it staring at Fuse’s door. I want nothing more than to open it and wake her up or even lay down beside her to finish sleeping, but the fact is she might not want me to and that makes me kind of want the random mace attack to hurry up and happen. If it even has to happen, I am here to propose, however unconventionally that might end up looking, and now I’m sitting here with Fuse’s father, whose opinion she respects more than almost anyone’s and I haven’t run it by him. 

I clear my throat and he doesn’t look up. 

“Uh, Tuffnut?” I start, heel tapping anxiously as I try to figure out how to say this, “I’m actually here to talk to Fuse.” 

“You could try that through the door, if you want, but she’s a heavy sleeper.” 

“No, I mean I could, I guess.” It’s a weird enough suggestion to trip me up, not that it would take much right now, “but I want to both see and talk to her, if that makes sense.” It does, but I doubt it when I say it out loud. "I’m here to ask her to marry me though, and I just realized I didn’t ask you first, which I should, theoretically.“ 

"Theoretically, yeah, and probably before she was pregnant, but considering I already signed a contract with Hiccup like four years ago, I think the rules are slightly different in this case.” 

“Right, I always forget that everything is already all…agreed upon.” 

“Except you and Fuse,” he pauses, “well, you seem to be agreed upon it now so it’s just Fuse.” 

“Yep.” That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence and I bite my lip. "Any idea how this is going to go for me?“ 

"You aren’t mad at her, right?” 

“No,” I shake my head and pause, “she told you about our fight?” 

“A little bit,” he shrugs, “she was pretty upset, but the future potential babies stole the spotlight a little bit, as they do. You’ll get used to that.” He nods over my shoulder at Fuse’s slowly opening door and stands up, “I’m being overshadowed as we speak, I’ll give you two the house for all the yelling and throwing stuff that might be about to happen.” 

“Thanks for that,” I glare at his back as he walks away. 

Fuse stands in the doorway, groggy and squinting at me, like she’s not sure I’m actually here and I wince when the front door slams shut behind her fleeing father. 

“I think I did enough yelling last night,” she says quietly, stepping out of her room and making cautious eye contact that I hate. I hate her being shy around me or more reserved than she usually is, it’s like salt in my stitches and I find the chief’s question echoing in my head. What do I want? 

“Any less yelling and I don’t know if you would have gotten your point across.” 

“That’s why I said enough yelling.” She clarifies, sitting down on the bench next to me, “as in I don’t need to do anymore.” 

I love how precise she is. I love how she doesn’t doubt herself and how clear and honest and direct she is. And I want more of that, I want it tempering my overwhelming urge to make other people happy, I want it helping me see a straight line through whatever mess is ahead of us. I clear my throat, looking down at my hands and trying to string the right words together the first time. 

“I think…no, I know we both have a lot of reasons why getting married seems…negative, and I don’t think we’ve talked about them all, because I was so caught up in my own that I never asked about yours.”

“There was no reason to,” she dodges the suggestion with the same precision, reaching for my arm and pulling my sleeve up to show the bandage. She peeks underneath like she’s making sure I’m not hiding a festering wound and I hate that I made her worry about me so much. 

“You’re right, it did need stitches.” I gesture at my cheek with my other hand, “Smitelout did me the favor in exchange for hitting me.” That makes her jaw twitch and I sigh, “and maybe before there wasn’t a reason to ask about your reasons, but now there are two, and they’re setting the schedule here.”


	22. Chapter 14.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snotlout POV

Snotlout wakes up with the feeling he’s been stabbed. Or hit with a hammer. Or poked by a trio of gronckle iron spears. 

“Ugh.” 

“The chief’s looking for you,” Ingrid pokes him again before hitting his shoulder, yawning audibly as she slumps out of the room. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so excited for Ingrid to move in, but Finn’s lack of cries immediately counteract that thought. 

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a second before another knock at the door keeps him awake and he stumbles to his feet and then to the front door, rubbing his arms against the cold. There’s another knock, quieter but more impatient. 

“What?” He opens the door to see Hiccup standing there, grinning like a crazy person, hands suspiciously in his pockets. 

“Hey.” 

“It’s nowhere near sunrise.” 

“I know,” Hiccup grins, “but that doesn’t matter–”

“I think it kind of matters.” 

“Oh, but it doesn’t,” Hiccup shakes his head, “because you’ve been rubbing it in my face for a year now, but not anymore.” 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Twins,” he raises one hand in a calculated middle-fingered salute, “Let’s count. One.” The other middle finger goes up, “and two. I’m gonna have two grandkids and you still only have one, so you can just fuck right off.” 

“What?” Snotlout scratches his head, looking vaguely behind Hiccup at the stars, half-expecting a different background to this absurdit. 

“Two grandkids,” Hiccup starts walking backwards, waving with his middle fingers, “you hear that? Two babies.” 

This is a strange and specific dream, bordering on nightmare. 

Hiccup disappears around the corner of the house and Snotlout stands there for a second, blinking and swaying slightly before giving up on figuring out what just happened and going back to bed.


	23. Chapter 15

Fuse looks down at her lap, wringing her hands together, and I can practically see her thinking. I don’t know what all she’s thinking about and I hope she’s about to tell me, as much as I’m not sure I want to hear it. Frankly, I can think of a lot of reasons she might not want to marry me, aside from the fact that I haven’t necessarily been trying too hard to remain alive. 

I’m loud and messy and I don’t necessarily have a job and I ask for way too much and–

No. None of that is helping. I want this to go well so I have to help it go well. That’s what I’m here to do. 

“Really, we should figure this out.” I prompt gently and everything in me wants to reach for her hand or her knee or all of her, to fold her up and pull her into my lap. Or partially fold her, I guess. Fold her as much as possible. 

Gods, I hate that I don’t know what she feels like anymore, I hate not having her memorized, like a map I’ve known forever and traced a thousand times. I hate the distance between us, how a few inches feels like months and a hundred changes I haven’t had a chance to catalog. 

I hate this so much that I never want it to happen again. I want to fix it and keep it fixed. I swallow hard against the words that threaten to spill out, the words that would exist mostly to keep me talking, like words can fend off the fuzzy halo of anxiety and worry and the desire to focus on avoiding my feelings instead of our future. 

Our future. That’s what I want. 

“When we get married,” she swallows hard over her significant tone and my heart jumps so hard I have to bite my tongue against reacting before she’s done, “I won’t be a Thorston anymore.” 

“What?” That’s not the end of that sentence I expected. Maybe an ‘I’ll forget silence, as a concept’ or a 'I’ll get sick of you’ or 'I don’t want to live with what your socks become when you’re done with them’, but nothing about her last name. She looks up at me, wincing, hands clasping and unclasping reflexively against her belly. 

I want her to calm down. We won’t figure this out if she doesn’t. 

I look around and see a flint sitting on the hearth so I hand it to her, finally exhaling when she rolls her shoulders and sits up straight, striking it a couple times into the air with controlled little flicks that shower a couple sparks down onto the flame resistant treated floor. 

“I…I’m not ready to stop being a Thorston.” 

“Oh.” I frown. It’s not a big enough reason for all this pain and worry and I can’t say that right now, because it would be in my own way. 

“It’s a part of me. It’s more than that, it’s–”

“I get it,” I swallow hard, reaching for her hand and holding it in both of mine, “or I think I do. I’m going to try to. I used to put so much stock in being a Hofferson, and I still do but–” I pause and frown, “and now I’m technically a Haddock, I think, I’m not really sure what is what on paperwork or–”

“Eret.” 

When she says my name, it reminds me where the ground is and where I want to stand. 

“Your aunt is the most Thorston that anyone has ever been and she’s an Ingerman, I guess. Technically.” Eye contact is heavy on my shoulders and I break it briefly, “just how I’m technically a Haddock, I think, sorry, I know this isn’t the time for that it’s just…I’ve never figured that out.” I cough, “I still feel like a Hofferson, if that helps.” 

She shrugs. It doesn’t help, obviously. She said 'when we get married’ though, and what if that means she’s resigned to it in the worst, resentful way? What if all those passing fears about resenting her was just some little part of me I couldn’t quite listen to cuing me into a future where she resents me? 

No. I’m going to prevent that future and this is my chance. 

“I’ll take your name?” My voice cracks over the spontaneous question and I clear my throat. "I don’t know my own last name right now, apparently, so I’m obviously not attached to it. It’s what my dad did. I can be a Thorston–“

She cuts me off with a kiss, surprisingly stern grip on the front of my shirt as she pulls me down to her. I guess my assumption that she’s not really having much success with bending forward was correct, but it’s Fuse and I should have gone a step further and assumed that she wouldn’t let it stop her, because her always strong hands are having no problem bending me down to her as she deepens the kiss. 

"Hey,” I pull back, patting her shoulder, “pause on that, maybe, that was a real offer. I could be a Thorston, that’s fine.” 

“Could you though?” She blushes, a tinge of pink across a wincing cheek as she tucks her hair behind her ear. 

“I mean, my dad did–”

“No, I–I love you, but you aren’t really Thorston material.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m a little offended, but she’s laughing, and she kissed me and that’s better than I hoped for. "Do I not break enough stuff? Is that it?“ I reach behind the bench and pick up a small whittled sculpture of a yak to throw on the floor. It’s horn breaks and I freeze. "Sorry.” 

“Eret.” 

“No, I’m not sorry, because I’m auditioning to be a Thorston and I think it’s funny if your dad tries to fight me for breaking his yak,” I move to stand and stomp on it or something but Fuse catches my hand with a nod. It’s a final little nod, one that marks a true Fuse decision, which aren’t ever overturned, and I’m gratified to be let in on this one. 

“Chiefs are Haddocks.”

“I’m not chief yet.” 

Her jaw flexes and one shoulder shrugs weakly. I want to take a step back, to say that this isn’t about me being chief, but that’s wrong. This is about planning a future I was always stupid enough to just assume and I have to believe being chief is part of that. I have to. 

Hel, the chief is kind of the only solid anchor I have going for me right now and I’m terrified by that and exhausted and–

No. Not time to dwell. I’ll theoretically have that time later. 

“Your last name isn’t the only problem, is it?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she looks down at her stretched tight shirt and then back at me. 

“It does.” 

“We both know that it doesn’t.” Maybe the chief’s advice runs out here because if I read between the runes, it sounds like she’s agreeing to what I want, but I can’t accept it because she looks miserable. Or maybe that’s just the next step. I got some level of agreement that we’ll have to get married, the next thing to hope for is for Fuse to be ok with it. 

No, this is about what I want, and I don’t want her to be ok with it, I want her to be happy. I want to be happy about it and I can’t do that unless she is.

“It matters to me.” I swallow hard, “all your problems matter to me.” 

“They shouldn’t.” She sets her jaw, the line of it more brittle than normal even as she rests her hand on my knee. "I’m supposed to fix your problems, not add more.“ 

"Says who?” 

“That’s just how it’s supposed to work,” she sputters, less confident than she ever is, and I hate it. "I’m supposed to predict your problems and figure them out and–“

"How the Hel would you do that?” 

“I don’t know,” her nostrils flare and she looks at her knees, “it is what your mom does though.” 

“My mom?” I know they’ve never gotten along, but given my slew of issues, I wouldn’t have thought my family would have much of a part in this particular conversation. But Fuse is looking up at me, shy and hopeful, like she’s waiting for me to pick up something she thinks is obvious, and I think back. Chief’s wife. She’s worried about being Chief’s wife and that’s my mom’s title now. "Is this about duties in the tribe and stuff?“ 

"You care too much about what people think to be a Thorston,” she sighs, “and I don’t care enough about what people think to be a Haddock.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m trying, I just…I’m not really following you here.” 

She bites her lip and lets it go slowly, her frown stormier with two complete eyebrows. I miss the soot. I miss her more than I miss the soot and I want to fix this so that I never have to miss her again. 

“Do me a favor,” it’s not really a question, but it doesn’t have to be, because there’s only one answer. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Don’t interrupt me?” She raises an eyebrow, good-natured but still stressed, and I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say and nod. I open my mouth to assure her that I definitely won’t interrupt her at all, but that’s not necessary so I clamp my lips back shut, ushering her onward with a nod. "I don’t know where I fit with your family, it seems like no matter what I do, I’m going head to head with your mom in some way. And with you almost killing yourself every few weeks, everyone takes it as proof that I definitely can’t take care of you. You or Berk or…Berk’s heirs.“ She deflates slightly, "and I hate that I think this would be easier if it were just about me and you instead of the future of everyone we have and everyone we know, especially because you want to be chief so much and you’re going to be so good at it. But I’m already set up to be a horrible chief’s wife if I wish sometimes that you didn’t have to be.” 

My heart thumps like sinking boulders pummeling the side of a ship and I shift uncomfortably on the bench, which feels like it’s trying to glue itself to me. My mouth is dry but I don’t want to clear my throat and interrupt her, even though I want to tell her that everything she’s saying is wrong. 

Except no, I don’t, because it’s true and we have to stop avoiding it. We have to plan for it.

Fuse seems surprised that I haven’t cut her off yet and I hate all the times I did, all the times I assured her that everything was alright because it was easier to tell myself that if I just worked harder, that could be true. Because it was easier to ignore the problems that didn’t seem like problems to me, either because I was dealing with bigger or more or because I see her as such a Valhalla scale force that I couldn’t understand how something like my family being crazy or me leading an island could intimidate her. 

I nod, pressing my lips together. 

“I don’t believe that you don’t care that you mom doesn’t like me. I’ve never tried to prove myself to anyone, I don’t understand the metrics and when I try, I keep messing up. I bombed Elva’s island trying to protect you from the chief messing with your life more and to protect myself from losing you, but it only made you go away. It only got you hurt, fighting more trappers and taking that knife,” she reaches for my arm and peels up the edge of my bandage to check my stitches again, “and when you’re hurt and I’m pregnant with Haddock heirs, it just makes me think about what would happen if you died, because I obviously can’t keep you from trying. And I’d be fighting with your mom and those black and white rules every day.” 

She’s at peace with what she’s saying, voice calm and low like she thought it all through, and she’s not taking back earlier’s when but I don’t think she’s grinning about the prospect yet. 

“What did she say?” Her tone is fake light, a bad lie, and I raise an eyebrow, committing to my silence. "You can talk.“ 

"What did who say about what?”

“I told my dad about the babies and our fight last night.” Her shrug is stiff and a little off cadence without the vest that I miss seeing her in more than I ever thought I would. "I’m assuming you went and told your mom.“ 

I laugh, "I tried to. Well, I didn’t want to, I still thought I could handle everything all by myself–”

“I shouldn’t make you feel that way,” she frowns, hugging herself, and I reach for her hands. 

“In a landmark turn of events, it’s your turn to not interrupt me.” That doesn’t quite get a smile but she looks a little less miserable, at least. "So, as I bled out, I went to the forge to stitch myself up–“

"Eret,” she admonishes me, which I deserve, and I plan to hold this moment that I was better at keeping quiet than her over her head for eternity, which she probably doesn’t deserve. 

“But Smitelout showed up to do it,” I leave out the first few botched stitches, I don’t think they’d help the situation, “and smacked some sense into me,” I gesture at my apparently bruised cheek, “literally, and told me to go talk to my mom, but I didn’t find her. Instead, I um…well, I might have cried all over the chief while singing like a baby deathsong and telling him everything. And he gave me some good advice and that’s why I’m here.” 

“Your mom doesn’t know?” It’s a victory for Fuse that I don’t understand, and I don’t think I need to understand it, just accomodate it like her bombs or the way she acts before thinking and lobs grudges like grenades. 

“No, not yet.” 

“What advice did the chief give you?” 

I smile and push a tangled pink strand of hair behind her ear, letting my palm linger against her cheek for a second. She knows the selfish chief rants of the last five years better than anyone, but I don’t want to talk about those, because then I’ll get bogged down in the idea that I’m being selfish, and that’s the last thing anyone ever wanted me to be. It’s the thing my mom fought so hard against, and I didn’t realize until now that meant she was fighting against Fuse too. 

Because how I feel about Fuse is selfish. And what I want from her and for us is selfish too. 

“All the chief’s wife stuff, you know what? Arvid is great at it. And you two made a great pair at the feast last night. Hel, maybe clue him in the next time you get the idea to bomb someone and he can make the call,” my smile is easy and joking and Fuse’s expression tightens like I’m saying something wrong. "Really, the two of you can handle it, I have zero doubt. Probably better than I can handle chief, if we’re honest.“ 

"That’s not what the chief told you.” 

“No, it isn’t. I’m getting there.” I try not to get caught up in her distanced expression, like she’s holding me at arms length until she can see the entire situation. "It does bug me that my mom doesn’t like you. Or didn’t like you, I guess, because I thought you two have been getting along lately, at least from what I’ve seen. But that’s not because of you not fitting in, it’s because it feels like another way my parents don’t trust my judgement. Well, that and the fact that my mom loves Smitelout so much, which is kind of an insult, considering she’s the one who slaps me and you’re the one who keeps me sane. Because you do, sometimes you’re the only one in the world who can make me see sense instead of winding me up.“ 

"What about you getting hurt all the time?” She hesitantly accepts the explanation and it’s a weight off of my shoulders. 

“That’s part of what the chief told me. He said I can’t make other people’s choices for them, and I guess I needed to hear it from him because he’s the one who made me think I could, kind of but…me getting hurt won’t keep anyone else safe. At least most of the time. And I can’t tell you I’ll never get hurt but…I thought I was taking blows so that someone else wouldn’t, but it doesn’t work like that. And on top of not realizing how scared it made you, I’m really sick of being hurt, honestly, it’s gotten pretty old.” 

Fuse frowns, chewing on the inside of her cheek and staring at me levelly, questioningly. The dark circles under her eyes are more permanent than one bad night’s sleep and it occurs to me for the first time that it probably isn’t comfortable to be that much bigger than she usually is. I want to fix that too, if I can, as soon as I know I’ve fixed the rest of this. Or at least know that she thinks I can. 

“Do you have anything to say to that or do you want me to keep talking about how dumb I’ve been?” I try with a fake laugh and her frown deepens. 

“So you’re just going to change?” She sighs, “you’re just going to stop getting hurt and stop being…you?” Her laugh is as hysterical as I’ve ever heard her, perfumed with the kind of panic that doesn’t sit well under a film of black powder. "I don’t like that either. I wasn’t ready for things to change.“ She sounds small when she says it, scared in a way that I hate, and I sigh. 

"Me either.” I’ve always felt like I could be honest with Fuse because she was too strong to collapse but maybe it’s because I am too. We don’t collapse, we collect, make ourselves small and quiet in ways only we can see. No one would say either of us understand silence but suddenly the weight of our months of lying to ourselves is stifling. "The chief’s advice was weird. I’m used to my mom or dad or Hel, Aurelia and Arvid, which, I can’t believe Arvid is a parentally sanctioned source of advice at this point but–anyway, they all tell me what to do or what’s smart or what I should care about. The chief asked me what I wanted and told me to go get it, I thought it sounded too simple, maybe it is.“ 

"What did you say you wanted?” She cocks her head, straight lines of fully regrown eyebrows knit together. There are dark circles under her bright blue eyes, a translucence of her skin under her freckles, and she looks exhausted. Half-miserable. Hopeful in a way that defies the logic I don’t have and I hope I can be enough to hold that up for her. 

“You.” I shrug, “and I’m not ready for that to look different than it did, but it does, and I don’t care. What I want hasn’t changed. I want you and what’s best for you and that means what’s best for our babies. And–”

She kisses me again and there’s a confidence in her grip on my chin, in her smile when she pulls back and nods like I gave her the answer she wanted. 

“You don’t spend much time doing what you want,” she assesses, discovering a new facet of an ingredient she’s long thought she knew. 

“I guess I don’t, I’d see you a whole lot more.” I grin when she blushes, a thick gray cloud lifting from her expression. She looks about as tired as I feel and my stomach growls. "Which will happen when we’re married,“ I try out when and it gives me fluttering Terrors in my stomach, "because we can just live together and sleep in the same bed.”

“And that’s why you want to get married,” she clarifies, slowly, watching the truth on my face with a slow growing smile. 

“I don’t want to get married, I want to be married,” I laugh, because that doesn’t make sense, but Fuse seems to get it anyway, “I want to come home to you every day and not worry about Stoick busting into my room and–and the next time you blow up something, I want to be able to say that my wife did it, I want a word to use for what you are to me.” I hold her hand in mine and she glows, shining like she’s about to ignite and it finally feels like enough, like I got it across. "And you know what? I want to eat, I’m starving, when was the last time I did that? I didn’t even eat the feast last night because I was so worried about what everyone else was doing.“ 

"I’ve got food,” she grins, conspiratorial and so beautiful that my growling stomach barely registers, “I’ve been secretly pregnant for months, it’s stashed everywhere.” 

“I love you.” I lean forward, swallowing hard, “do you want to get married or something?” 

It’s not a proposal, not one anyone else would recognize, and maybe that’s why her smile widens and she nods. 

“That’d work.” It’s a Fuse acceptance to an Eret question, an offer to find the best in a weird situation and make scrap work for us. 

A few minutes of searching forms a pile of jerky, mostly fresh bread, and three mostly unbruised apples, and I’m not exactly proud of how fast it disappears. To be fair, I kind of think Fuse could put more effort into being impressed that I lose an entire apple core down my throat instead of just being mildly disgusted, but it also feels more comfortable than I have in months. I feel like I belong in my own skin again, with Fuse wrinkling her nose at me and sneaking bites of bread carelessly abandoned on my lap. It could be like this every day, I realize, it could be Fuse and I laughing and talking and not lying. Not lying like my parents lied my whole life and not lying like the chief and my mom lied until they confronted some version of the truth that they could agree upon. 

The food is gone about the first time Fuse yawns, and clearly, the next thing I want more than anything in the world is a nap. I also don’t really remember the last time I had one of those, lately I’ve just been running until I fall and getting back up as soon as I can. Fuse seems to feel the same way because she doesn’t complain, she just falls into her too small bed with me, in her quiet room, and I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. 

00000

“Eret,” Fuse’s voice is too far away and I roll in the vaguely familiar bed, reaching across the mattress to the bare space at the edge. It’s a nightmare, maybe, not being able to reach her, but there’s no familiar fog of dread. 

“He’s drooling so much,” Arvid comments, dredging me another layer from the depths of my almost dream. 

All of my bones ache like they used to when Mom would make me sit until I was done reading, like I’ve been glued to a never padded enough seat for far too long. Arvid always used to get free before I did, he read half as much and she’d let him get back to playing but I had to sit there. I had to wait for Rolf to tell me I could get up and he loved that little scrap of power. 

I groan as I flop fully onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow and almost falling back asleep. My arm hurts, but not as much as it itches, and I remember the knife. Elva. The feast. Fuse. Always Fuse. Fuse and the fact she’ll marry me and it might mean hoarded food and doing what I want, for once, and how I’d be a Thorston just to avoid whatever Haddock-Hofferson chief-less chief-type conversation I have to have now. 

I pull a pillow over my head and groan again. Arvid kicks me in the shin, I’m assuming from the force. Fuse’s cold fingers brush my hair away from the back of my neck and I arch into it, fumbling weakly to find her. My fingertips brush over her leg and she steps away, her hand leaving with her. 

“No,” I whine, scooting towards the edge of the bed. 

“His hair is stuck to his face,” Arvid whispers. I try and kick in that direction and my foot finds the floor. I lift my head to a curtain of red and clumsily free one eye enough to see Arvid and Fuse looking down at me. Fuse is wearing an old shirt of mine and smiling that quiet smile that makes my heart flip. Arvid is mildly disgusted. 

“What?” I sit up on the edge of the bed, wiping my face with both palms, “what’s up? What’s going on?” 

“Nothing much,” Arvid laughs, “by the look of it.” 

“What time is it?” I squint when I raise my head again. The sun coming through the window feels like mid-morning but from the ache in my bones, it must be much later than that. Is there a fire? 

“Mid-morning.” 

“Obviously,” I glare at Arvid’s light tone, “but how?” 

“You were asleep for almost an entire day,” Fuse sits down next to me, rubbing my bare back. I realize she’s wearing the shirt I came over here in, but I don’t remember taking it off. I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember eating, but maybe that was a dream because my stomach growls. I hope not though, because it was the prospect of eating that led to the proposing and oh my Gods. "You were tired.“ 

"I still am,” I laugh, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes and trying to process, “alright, I’m up, what’s wrong?” 

Arvid grins though, crossing his arms and leaning back against the doorjamb, “it’s a fun one.” 

“Fire? Invaders?” 

“Everyone thinks you ran because the chief told you to follow your dreams or something.” 

“Fuck,” I stand up, stumbling a step and catching myself on Arvid’s arm, “how bad is it?” 

“Ingrid was about to head up the search party, no one thought to check with Fuse,” he shakes his head, “except me.” 

“Aurelia didn’t help?” 

“Nah, she was sure you were halfway down the mainland,” Arvid is different brand of smug now, waiting for applause but not expecting it, “flying Bang for all he had.” 

“Nope, I was here. Sleeping.” 

“And eating all the food in the house,” Fuse adds, tickling my back with an unnecessary level of appeal, especially considering how she looks in my shirt, pregnant with my babies. 

“I did do that,” I admit, “there isn’t any more, is there?”

“Nope, you got it all.” Her fingers drag above my waistband, barely, and I wake up a little more, disgruntled about the fact that Arvid is still here. Fuse seems to share the sentiment. "Anything else, Arvid?“ 

"Not to be a buzzkill–”

“Too late.” I scoff, scratching my growling stomach. 

“–But our entire complicated family is waiting at the chief’s house to drag you back and make an honest woman out of Thorston before the Haddock curse strikes again.” He ushers me towards the door, “Mom practically has steam coming out of her ears.” 

“You’re having too much fun with this,” I turn to Fuse, “you ready?” She seems stunned I’m still giving her the option and I hold out my hand, “if you want to, I could also go alone.” 

“Not fully alone. I’m not missing this,” Arvid shrugs, handing me a shirt from Fuse’s shelf. It’s mine and I wonder how many of my clothes she’s collected and there’s a weird jolt in my chest when I realize she won’t have to go out of her way much longer, because we should be sharing space soon. One room with one bed, both our things stacked around it. 

Gods, I hope there’s time, I hope the chief doesn’t get so obsessed with some blushing father of the groom fantasy that delays the feast I’m sure I won’t get out of to the point that a house can’t be ready in time. I don’t know how I feel about everything Fuse said about my mom and I can’t say I understand how she feels, except to know that she definitely won’t want to move into the chief’s house. Maybe I understand a little just by the virtue of how little I want to move in with her. I would have taken her name if she’d asked me to, but I have to admit there’s a small amount of logic in her saying I don’t have what it takes to take on that Thorston title. 

“Maybe it’s best if you tell them first,” Fuse points at her stomach, “my dad was pretty…startled.” She softens what I’m sure was closer to a squawking freak out that Chicken VII would be proud of and I nod, kissing her forehead. 

“Good call.” 

I feel more than a little bit like I’m being marched to a holding cell when Arvid assumes a guarding, arms-crossed position inside of the chief’s front door. Mom looks more relieved than pissed as she raises her eyebrow at him but he just shrugs, giving me the floor without complaint. The chief gives me a thumbs up from behind Mom’s back and I glare at him, because he couldn’t be any less subtle. Aurelia’s curious, nagging glare reminds me of a jewel bright powder that Fuse cautions me away from with forceful hands and I see Arvid has left me to deal with her too. 

Fine. 

Finally, I make myself make eye contact Mom. It’s one of those times that are becoming more common lately where the chief the least threatening person in the room. That in and of itself makes me wary still, but Mom looks like she knows what I did wrong and is waiting for me to confess before sentencing me. And I know the sentence, finally a lifetime of marriage, which she probably still thinks of as my worst nightmare. 

I see it clearly, for a second, the fact that the chief and my mom are both looking at me how they wish someone had looked at a twenty one year old Chief Hiccup, and it almost makes me wonder where I’d be now if he’d had the same news as I have now. 

“Hey, chief. Mom. Aurelia.” I greet all of them, tucking my hands in my pockets and looking back at the door again. 

I’m not going to run, I know I’m not going to run, but I’m a little insulted by the fact that Aurelia sees it as necessary to physically block the door. Or half the door. A fraction of the doorway. 

“Hey, Eret, let me guess, you started a war?” The chief laughs, good-natured but staring me down, like I’m not going to blink without him cataloging it for later analysis, “or hey, you could have started a war. That’s also a possibility.” He’s trying to help, in his way, I guess. 

I laugh even though it’s not funny and Mom cocks her head at me, unimpressed. 

“Well, chief, I’ve got two pieces of good news for you. The first is that it’s not a war.” 

He nods, urging me onward with eyes that betray the fact we hugged, and I should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep that down, “that is good news.” 

“Right? I thought you’d like that–”

“Eret,” Mom cautions me, more exhausted than anything and all these months trying to control my thoughts in front of her so that she doesn’t read my mind haven’t done anything about her ability to. I could keep stalling, but I shouldn’t, and I don’t really want to. 

“The other piece of good news, or I think it’s good news, but umm…you’re going to be a grandma. Again.” I go for the Mom-centric delivery, hoping that the next few minutes will be more gentle if they start out right.

Mom purses her lips but says nothing. Not a great sign. 

“What?” The chief prods again, over the top as he looks over at Aurelia, who shakes her head and gestures back at me, also clearly irritated about my stalling. 

“Leave me out of this, I’m just here on runaway dad duty.” 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” the chief laughs, voice easy and light even as his eyes tell me to get on with it. Ok, I messed up, I should have just made this about me. "Unless there are any other dads present who might run away…“

Subtle, chief. Subtle. 

"Aurelia means me, as in I’d be the run away dad.” I look at the chief because I don’t want to meet my mom’s eye, I don’t want to see if she’s disappointed or angry or happy until I know the outcome. His eyes widen and he smiles at the news, even though he already knew it, and I swallow hard. I want it to be a cocky smile, like he finally won this protracted game of maces and talons that stopped being fun literal years ago, but he still seems genuinely excited. It reminds me of a smile I saw years ago, one that ended so much worse, and I can’t let myself think that way so I try to focus on the fact he looks happy and no one has marched me off to an actual holding cell. "Fuse is pregnant.“ 

"Fuse?” The chief isn’t really asking. I wait for him to brag, for him to look like he’s winning something but he stands up, offering me his outstretched hand. 

He’s the only other person I know who was ever happy about a woman he wasn’t married to being pregnant with his child and I can’t help but be glad for the support. I take his hand and shake it and he pulls me into a hug that I wish was more forced, like the other night was a fluke. It’s a bit bony. A bit leathery and strange, but not forced. 

I pat him on the back. He ruffles my hair. I steel myself for Mom’s reaction. 

“Yeah,” I look at her levelly and she’s relieved but not pleased. "I…yeah. I know we have to get married now and it’s–the feast doesn’t have to be big, we’d rather it’s not–“

"Small feast, I’ll try,” the chief claps my shoulder again, and he’s pushing his luck with the camaraderie act, “I think everyone will want to be there, it’s been the beat of the heart of village gossip long enough but I’ll try.” There’s a brief, shining moment of peace before the chief just has to shatter it all, not quite reading my mind but something close. "How long have you known?“ 

I pause, trying to tuck my hair back up into its tie, my ears itching like they’re asking Thor himself to scratch them. 

"About four months.” 

Mom blinks at me, her words coming out hollow, scripted. "So it’s a secret.“ 

"A little bit.” I want to tell her that Fuse wanted it to be until now, but I know I shouldn’t, I know it doesn’t matter. I’d take the blame either way, I’m used to it. 

“I’m assuming a large bit, if you’ve known for four months.”

“Honestly, larger than your thinking, because we think it’s probably twins,” I blurt and Mom’s eyes widen like somehow she wasn’t reading my mind this entire time and I’ve actually surprised her. That’s more of a relief than I expect and when I look back at the chief and he’s smiling, my knees wobble. Even Aurelia relaxes slightly. 

“Twins?” Mom’s voice cracks over the word. If I’m not crazy, Aurelia might look a little pleased with me, maybe even proud, and I’ll have to tell her later how she could probably get what she wants for better that way because I’m riding this surprisingly yell-free experience like a Thunderdrum’s back. 

“And I know we have to get married, I’m not here to fight you on that, if we’re honest I want to get married now to get the house because raising twins with Stoick bursting in my room every few minutes sounds like a new layer of Hel.” I laugh at Mom’s stunned expression, “below the layer of Hel I’ve been on keeping this secret. I’m so glad that everyone knows.” 

Someone knocks on the door then and it opens just enough for my dad to poke his head in, “oh, Eret, you’re here. Why did no one come get me? Ingrid and I were just about to go look for you.” 

“Dad,” I freeze, the chief’s hand on my shoulder turning to a block of ice. I forgot. How did I forget?


	24. Chapter 16

“Dad,” I shove the chief’s hand off of my shoulder and take a step away from him, “this isn’t what it looks like.”

Aurelia sighs, stepping aside to let Ingrid through the door where she pauses, evidently shocked to see me. She and Aurelia exchange a look and their immediate, twin expressions of sisterly disappointment are almost as uncomfortable to look at as my dad’s confusion. 

“It looks like you didn’t run away, which is a good thing.” He glares at Mom—no, it’s not quite a glare, not like it used to be. A confused and disappointed look, but the competition I hate between them is gone, and it’s as weird as the hugs yesterday morning. Or two mornings ago, I don’t know, sleeping a whole day is confusing. 

“A shocking thing,” Ingrid grumbles under her breath, nibbling on a metal finger and leaning back against the wall. 

“I took a nap,” I explain the easiest part of this first before sighing. Deflating, really, the guilt piling onto my shoulders threatening to push me flat to the floor, “I have to tell you something.” I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug, out of theatrics or the will to dance around the issue any longer, “Fuse is pregnant, we think it’s twins. It’s ok though, she said she’d marry me,” I add with a sheepish smile, watching my dad’s face go blank as his eyes dart to Mom’s. She shrugs and he starts to grin, slowly, cautiously, like he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to or not. 

“You didn’t tell me that part!” The chief is too loud, tone-deaf again after such a brief period of almost understanding and I glare at him from the corner of my eye, resisting the urge to take another side step away. Then I’d look too much like I was fleeing, which is apparently what everyone thinks I do.

“I said I knew we had to get married,” I cross my arms, “maybe to you I should have clarified that I asked her first.” The low blow must glance off the chief’s fake foot because his smile doesn’t budge, like two hugs after five years of frostiness made him impervious. Mom clears her throat though, raising an eyebrow like she’s daring me to say that again and I clear my throat. “We worked it out. She said I can’t take her last name though, apparently I’m not Thorston material.” 

“No one seems very surprised,” Dad doesn’t laugh at my joke. It’s not even a joke, really, if I were Thorston material I’d be enjoying the awkward, creeping silence. 

“We were just here when he told Mom,” Aurelia cushions, “he skipped the part where he’s known for four months this time.” 

“But you already knew, Chief,” Dad nods to himself and Ingrid frowns at me, slowly lowering her hand from her face. 

“Oh.” If the chief even attempts to play it cool, it doesn’t show, because he’s almost immediately grinning, “we might have bonded over it, or something—”

“Over what, exactly?” It’d be easier if my dad sounded mad at me, instead of defeated, and the guilt in my chest overflows as I step in front of him, offering a hug I don’t think I deserve. 

“Being idiots?” I get my hug, so it must be a correct answer, but I wonder if the fact he doesn’t pick me up this time is a punishment or reward. “I should have told you first.” I mumble when I step back, half-hoping the chief doesn’t hear. 

It turns out I’ve kind of grown out of hurting him on purpose. Maybe I’m even growing out of hurting him on accident and not apologizing for it later. We did bond, even if he doesn’t get to say it, even if he doesn’t get to know it. We bonded before I realized it, just from me dealing with these last few months away from Fuse while the next stage of our lives unfolded without me. 

The chief gets that, probably a little too well considering how thoroughly I rubbed it in. 

“It’s not something to be jealous over,” Mom placates, looking not quite sternly at Dad. Her eyes are friendly, admonishing, the blue flame that used to barely refrain from lighting his boat on fire extinguished. I don’t like it at all. “We guessed months ago.” 

“You knew?” The chief and I ask Mom at the same time. 

“No, leave me out of this,” Arvid shakes his head, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall beside Ingrid and answering Dad’s unspoken ‘who is we?’. 

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” The chief looks as mad at Mom as I’ve seen in years and her sly smile surprises me almost as much as the answer to the question I’m about to ask. 

“You knew and you didn’t kill me?” I don’t notice I’m a little dizzy until Dad grabs my elbow to steady me. It’s a fair reaction to realizing the last four months of my life have been a constant near-death experience. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so stressed. Animal instincts sensing a Mom-shaped predator stalking me, fight or flight all riled up. 

“I felt bad lying to you for two days,” the chief shakes his head, “but months?” 

“Yeah, and you didn’t seem to feel too bad trying to marry our son off without talking to us.” She includes Dad in ourand us and the room’s spinning slows down, even if only slightly. They aren’t yanking me back and forth anymore and I wonder what changed. 

“Doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me,” Dad mumbles and Mom glares at him. 

“Don’t worry, Dad, I was last to know too,” Ingrid comforts, “Smitelout kept the squirt’s secret, I was pissed.” 

“And you kept it all of fifteen minutes,” Aurelia sighs, “Eret told me so I could keep an eye on Fuse while he was gone, but Arvid, and I guess Mom, had already guessed.” 

“I said leave me out of this.” 

“You were born into it andmarried into it,” Aurelia gripes at Arvid, “stop meddling if you want to be left out of things.” 

“If we didn’t meddle, there wouldn’t be a newly built, contract ready house finished,” Mom responds to Aurelia but looks at the chief, self-satisfied eyebrow raised. 

A house. A contract ready house. I’m dizzy again just thinking of it, my feet pulling me towards the door to go tell Fuse at the same time as my head feels like it’s wobbling on my neck. I don’t think I’m made to get that much sleep, it’s not sitting right with me. 

“I thought your sudden interest in carpentry was…devious.” The chief shakes his head and sighs, “and I was wondering why you weren’t more furious with me about…you know.” 

“The time you tried to marry me off?” I laugh. I don’t know what else to do, besides slump to the floor and put my head between my knees. Dad ruffles my hair and I’m shocked to hear him laughing too.

“So you took matters into your own hands?” Dad laughs harder and Aurelia joins him. 

“I helped,” Arvid offers.

Ingrid snorts, “I thought you wanted to be left out of this.” 

“Changed my mind,” he sounds like Dad when he chuckles, “he looks so happy about the house, I want credit.”

“Yes, I took matters into my own hands,” Mom keeps control of her tone, barely, and I risk the dizziness to look up at her as she scoffs at the chief, “I watched you try your method of nagging him and trying to force his hand for years, I figured it was my turn to try and work this out.” 

“What were you going to do if it didn’t work?” Dad shakes his head and Mom shrugs. 

“I figured Eret and Fuse wouldn’t be going anywhere when she was in labor, and I also know the chief pretty well,” she starts laughing then, radiating relief. “And if everything in the contract was in order no one could say no.”

“So, you were just going to force everyone’s hand, later.” The chief nods to himself, looking at Mom the way I looked at Fuse when she explained the easy logic behind bombing a whole island. Maybe that’s a marriage lesson I don’t need, when your wife does something diabolical, maybe all you can do is nod and try to remember where your path is. 

“I didn’t have to,” she smiles at me, “you made the right decision and I’m proud of you. And I’ll admit, the twins did shock me. I didn’t see twins coming.” 

“I kept the twins secret,” Arvid grins. 

“We all did,” Ingrid smacks his arm. 

“But you didn’t know Mom knew and she was the only one who knew but didn’t know about the twins,” Arvid insists and Aurelia shakes her head, fondly irritated as Ingrid gives up trying to make sense of what he said and smacks him on the arm instead. 

“Well, I’m the parental figure he told first so…” the chief brags, looking at me like he hopes I’ll let him and I don’t know how I could stop him but I’m too addled to try. 

“To be fair, I was really upset, I might have told Toothless if I’d run into him first.” I let a barely there smile show, or I hope it’s a smile, my face is kind of numb from the shock of all of this, “maybe. Probably not, but maybe.” 

Maybe it’s because Mom looks at my dad or because I don’t. Maybe it’s because for once in his life the chief doesn’t take an opportunity to apologize for not gloating, but the air in the room skips, a stiff sort of hesitation drawing a line down between us. Mom, the chief, and me suddenly aligned in a way we’ve never been, Arvid and Aurelia spanning the gap, feet anchored in the chief’s house by choice and insistence even as Ingrid shifts towards the door, raising an eyebrow at Dad. 

“Well, now that I don’t have to hunt you down,” Dad offers me his hand to help me up off of the floor and I take it, dizziness fully passed as he tries to let go of my hand and follow Ingrid to the door, “my day’s opened up. Fishing with Finn?” 

I hate it when my dad looks uncomfortable. It’s something I didn’t see until I was seventeen and bandaged in this house and he and Mom started skirting around each other, laughing nervously as Dad hunched his shoulders to look smaller or carried things like he was trying to feel useful. I told him to sit down and play maces and talons with me, I asked Aurelia to get us both water and tried not to think about it. Sure, there were a lot of reasons for him to feel uncomfortable in the chief’s house, but none of those mattered because I was a reason for him to relax. 

It was my house too, he was my dad, there was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t kick off his boots and make himself at home. He never used to have a problem with it, if anything, seeing the chief back in the days of secrecy made him bigger. Cockier. The time honed example of everything Arvid’s growth-pained bravado was trying to be. But then the chief won Mom back and I realize now, as he excuses himself with an ill-fitting awkward shuffle of his feet, that he thinks the chief won me too. 

“Can I come?” I blurt, tightening my grip on his hand when I should be letting go. 

“I know you’ve spent the last couple months proving your master multi-tasker status, but don’t you have an entire wedding feast to plan?” Aurelia raises an eyebrow even as her voice is delicate, balancing on the same issue, like a Terror perching on a twig. 

“It’ll need fish, right?” I laugh, “never too early for Finn to bring home the haddock.” I wince. I should have said cod. Or salmon. Or literally any other fish. 

“Are you trying to rope us into helping you plan your last minute, being-held-at-macepoint-by-a-Thorston wedding?” Ingrid laughs, “not a chance, Squirt, just tell me when I have to dress up.” 

“Next Frigga’s day if we can get the rest of the gifts together,” Mom’s eyes feel like hot pokers on the back of my neck as I try to come up with some reason why I’m still holding Dad’s hand. 

“Tuffnut did make that easy on us, at least an islandis just a signature.” The chief laughs, oblivious to the panic running through my mind as I try to think of any reason to ask my dad to stay. 

Yeah, I bonded with the chief over being an idiot who got a girl pregnant in most stressful order possible, but this entire time, I’ve been hoping for the house. The house is everything that matters, the house is why I want my dad to stay so much right now even if I can’t bring myself to hate the chief. He made the choice to raise me, under his roof, like I was his and that’s what made me his. He chose me and choosing those babies is literally the sum total of everything I know about being a dad. 

That and not dropping them.

Until they can walk, maybe?

No, Finn can walk and Ingrid would kill me if I dropped him. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot to do,” Dad breaks my grip and pats me on the arm, sad and happy for me and itching to leave and if I were chief, I could order him not to. I shouldn’t, but theoretically I could, except not even following the chief’s advice could tip that in my favor this quick.

Wait, the chief’s advice.

What do I want? 

“I think Gobber has an old sword of my dad’s,” the chief mutters to himself and I jump, grabbing my dad by both shoulders and nearly shaking him. 

“Sword!” I want my dad to be a part of my wedding, I want it to feel like he’s part of this weird family. I want to close that distance that opened up the second I felt comfortable not hating the chief. “Dad, I need a sword from your family! I need an Eret family sword because I’m an Eret and so are you and—”

“Slow down,” he laughs and I wish I hadn’t said anything in case this rare streak of good luck ends with him reminding me that I’m a Haddock. 

“Shouldn’t it be a chief’s sword?” Mom has always been my favorite bearer of bad news, because at least I know she’ll be ruthless and efficient and make me tea afterwards while she listens to me mope.

A chief’s sword for an almost chief who isn’t as Eret as he wants to be. 

“That doesn’t matter, I was just thinking of my dad…” the chief frowns, finally looking between me and my dad and pausing. Aurelia clears her throat. “No, it’s a good idea, if we can track down a family sword.” 

Dad stands up a little straighter and I relax as Ingrid steps back fully inside and shuts the door behind her. 

“By Frigga’s day?” Mom frets and I don’t think I could calm her down about the timeline by getting Fuse over here, or I would. Immediately. 

“If we headed out now,” Arvid offers, “and flew straight—”

“You have enough to do here,” Dad pulls his own sword out of the sheath at his hip and holds it out in front of him, between us, wrist angled so that the hilt is pointed towards me. “A family sword.” 

“You mean…” I swallow, reaching tentatively to grab it. He lets go when I do and my ears burn, “your sword?” 

“I’d be honored.” He takes a step back, letting me hold it and Ingrid rolls her eyes at my expression. 

“You don’t even like swords, Squirt.” 

“I like this one,” I hold it closer, possessive and giddy. Who knew that asking for what I want works? Well, the chief knew, but he’s the chief so is it even asking? 

“So you got a sword, great, I’ll start cleaning up for the feast,” Arvid pushes away from the wall, expression business like as he walks to the door. I’d say stomps but I think I might be dizzy again, making his steps sound louder. 

“Arvid,” Aurelia reaches for him and I want to tell her that the tense situation no one could leave without breaking something is over, but I’m too caught up in sword and house and how much I have to tell Fuse. 

“Can’t have blood on the floor at a wedding,” he calls over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him and my arm throbs, reminding me of the stitches. So much has happened. I can’t keep up. 

“I’ve got to go get Fuse,” I announce, setting the sword carefully on the hearth and admiring it for a second, “I’ll be back.” I don’t notice Aureila slipping out after me until her hand is on my elbow and I turn to see her staring at me with a concerned frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Can you talk to Arvid on the way?” 

“Why?” I shake my head, “I think he’s got cleaning handled.”

The long breath out of her nose isn’t so much sigh as deflation and she lets go of me, “never mind, I’ll do it, it might make it worse to see you so unusually chipper.” 

“Well, if Arvid prefers me mopey, we’re going to have issues,” I take a backwards step, “because this is the best day ever. A house and a sword and—”

“Go get Fuse,” she shakes her head, “your smile’s about to split your face in half and I don’t do gore.”

“Love you,” I make no effort to curb the smile on my way to the barn or even as the cold breeze of Bang’s steep dive to the Thorston house blows my cheeks back with a salty gust of air off the bay. Fuse is sitting on her stool in the doorway of her shed and I don’t give her time to stand up when I land, jumping off of Bang and scooping her into a probably too tight hug. 

“It went well?” She cocks her head when I set her down and I barely resist the urge to pick her up and spin around, mostly because it might kill the moment to get a nausea update from her first. 

“I know, right? I also thought that was impossible.” 

“What did your mom say?”

“That’s…well, ok, apparently she already knew—ouch!” I flinch at the force of Fuse’s bony finger jabbing me in the chest. 

“You said you didn’t tell her.” 

“Whoa,” I grab her hand and hold it in both of mine, “I didn’t. She guessed, or apparently, she and Arvid guessed.” 

“And that’s how it’s going to be,” she steels herself but seems to adjust to the idea, nodding as her slightly crooked tooth digs into her bottom lip, “your family is going to gossip about us.” 

“Right now, I can’t say I want it to be any different,” I laugh, continuing before her confusion can revert to annoyance, “they took it upon themselves to build a house in case I didn’t figure out that we had to get married and they had to fulfill the contract at the last minute.” 

“That wouldn’t have worked,” she frowns, “I wouldn’t have signed anything.” 

I kiss her on the forehead, “yeah, but the past few months have shown that they don’t know you like I do. And either way, at least this round of gossip and meddling got us a house.” I rest a hand on her stomach but feel nothing, “do you hear that guys? You aren’t going to have to sleep in bomb casings in a work shed! Isn’t that great news?” 

“A house?” She asks flatly, like she can’t quite believe it.

“Contract requirements fulfilled,” I hug her again, resting my cheek on the top of her head, “apparently an island is a really easy wedding gift to sign over without much notice. We’ll have to thank your dad.” 

00000

Later that night it’s quiet after my parents, all three of them as weird as it is to think, leave to start gathering a feast. Fuse said small, I said small, I think the chances of that being listened to are remote at best, but I’m fully ready to use the pregnancy excuse to its full extent to leave for the house that Arvid somehow pulled together. I should be happy, I am happy, but something is sitting just wrong as I look at Dad’s sword in my hands. It’s not too heavy for me so much as it’s too stout, too grounded. It takes too much intention to move and I can’t imagine myself sticking it into the great hall rafter. I love what it meant for him to give it to me but it doesn’t feel like the claim I want somehow, hours after the fact. 

“You’re quiet,” Fuse sits down next to me, bumping my shoulder with hers. 

“This isn’t the right sword,” I say with the certainty that hasn’t done anything bad for me in the past couple of days. Hearing the words out loud and seeing Fuse cock her head with interested concern solidifies the feeling and I nod. "Yeah, it’s not the right sword.“ 

"It’s your Dad’s sword,” Fuse takes it from my lap, the tip dipping slightly as she lays it across her knees to look at it. "I don’t recognize the runes.“ 

"Yeah, it’s my Dad’s sword, I think that’s the problem, it’s supposed to be his. I asked for something from his family, not from him, it’s not the same.” I understand better than ever how the chief got so annoying, because speaking with his much conviction makes me feel instantly lighter. Like if I say things in the right way, they become more real, and a dangerously welcome little voice in the back of my head suggests that maybe I’m right more than I think. 

“His family isn’t from here…” Fuse states the obvious, trailing off and measuring my expression with a faint smile, “what are you thinking?” 

“I’ve got to talk to Arvid, I’ll be right back,” I stand up, kissing the top of her head on the way and crossing the room to where Arvid and Aurelia are talking with Stoick. He’s on his best behavior since I threatened to throw him out the window when he saw Fuse and reminded me that we’re not married yet so someone else might still have a chance with her, but naturally that all changes when he sees me. His smile turns mischievous like I won’t throw another shoe or axe or almost correct sentimental sword at him. 

“Need help with Fuse?” He offers and I roll my eyes.

“No, I just need to talk to Arvid,” I knock my fist against his arm and point at the door, “alone for a second.” 

“Ok, I’ll just hang out with Fuse in case someone needs to claim her babies while you’re busy,” Stoick giggles, dodging Aurelia’s clap on his ear and turning it into a harmless swipe at his head. "Ouch!“ He whines anyway, and Aurelia puts her hand on her hip. 

"That hurt a lot less than not doing anything and letting Eret have a whack at you,” she threatens, but it doesn’t stick, because he runs off happily across the room. "And my dad called me mouthy.“ 

"Still does,” I tease her and she raises a tiny, threatening hand. "You can’t reach.“ 

"That’s what I’m here for,” Arvid grabs my hair before I can bat him off, yanking it almost sharply enough for it to hurt and tugging me towards the door. 

“Hey,” I swat at him with a laugh, broad side of the sword smacking against his knee as we step outside. It’s cold enough to let me hope for the smaller feast, because it’s really not the season for a wedding, and as my plan starts to take shape in the back of my mind, stretching this another week doesn’t seem like the worst idea. "So…I don’t want to use Dad’s sword to get married,“ I wave it in Arvid’s direction and he takes it from me, holding it across his palms and tracing the hilt with his thumb. 

"Good, it’s too good to be an heirloom. Are you wanting to find a Hofferson sword or something?” 

“No,” I glance down at his chin, “you’ve been to Dad’s home tribe.” 

He waits for me to continue, handing the sword back to me with carefully raised eyebrows. 

“Could you take me there?” I gesture vaguely north, “I’m sure I could get a map but first-hand knowledge–”

“I went there once when I was seventeen and spent the whole time trying not to cry while somebody shoved needles in my chin.” 

That’s not explicitly a no, so I chance it. 

“So…you’re saying you could take me?” Either he doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t see the question as worth answering and I stand up a little straighter because I want this to be right. It has to be with the right sword, it has to mean the right thing. "Because if you can, we should leave tonight.“ 

"You’re too sappy with Thorston to be handing off those babies to Stoick,” he crosses his arms, trying to read my expression and apparently coming up short. 

“Remember how I couldn’t go rob Great Uncle Haggar Hofferson’s grave with you before you married Aurelia? Well, I could have, I was just about to get my bandages off, but Mom–”

“I remember.” He pauses long enough for me to start shifting between my feet, half ready to take off and go without him. Well, after I say goodbye to Fuse, of course, and scare Stoick. "I had to go with Rolf. He spent half an hour trying to find a lever arm to move a boulder I could roll.“ 

"Do you want to help me steal a ceremonial sword from one of Dad’s ancestors’ graves?” I chew on my pinky nail, trying to look casual while I wait for him to answer. 

“Dad already gave you his sword.” 

I hear it then, the edge of jealousy I’d thought he’d outgrown entirely. It’s a relief, in a way, that under all his composure there might be some part of him that’s eighteen and floundering. I hold the sword out to him. 

“Take it, it’s yours.” 

He looks at it for a second before accepting, grip light and cautious on the hilt, “you don’t even like swords.” 

“I don’t, that’s true.” Maybe I want this, in a way I didn’t understand. I want brother time, I want one last thing where I’m Eret, unattached. Not that I’m not already attached, because I am, I was before Fuse got pregnant, but it feels significant to have one more stupid adventure, especially with Arvid’s fragile, jealous expression peeking through. "And you should have it, you’ll actually use it and like you said, it’s too decent of a sword to retire to doing stupid weddings. Plus, the whole point of this is joining families, right? And you already brought Hoffersons into it and no one is questioning Haddocks,“ I gesture to myself and then point back inside, "and Thorston is obvious. But Dad…I feel guilty for telling the chief first, I guess. And for seeing him so little lately–”

“To be fair, you’ve hardly seen any of us lately.” 

“True, but I’m related to the rest of you.” I shrug, “and I want to show everyone that I’m related to Dad too. In the real way. You know, where I steal stuff from his dad’s grave.” 

“It’s a three-day trip, probably, if we want to avoid trouble,” he nods, patting his hip where his sword usually hangs, “and I have to pack and talk to Aurelia. I’m guessing we aren’t telling anyone else where we’re going?” 

“Gods no,” I laugh, “I think if I’m here when Mom gets back she’s going to tie me to my bed until the wedding. I’ll talk to Fuse and meet you back out here?” 

He nods and we go back into the chief’s house, splitting inside of the door and moving wordlessly in opposite directions. My heart is pounding in that excited way that only happens right before I do something wrong, and I don’t really remember the last time I felt it, especially unattached from any form of guilt. I’m doing the right thing, anyway, I want this wedding to be right. 

“Hey,” I crouch down in front of Fuse, leaning in close enough that I’m hoping my whispering looks like something other than planning to sneak out, “so, any chance of those babies coming in the next week or so?” I put a gentle hand on her stomach and she blushes, moving to push me away but relaxing like she just realized that the secret is out. 

“Not in any happy way.” She shrugs, honest and untroubled by the statement even as it makes my stomach churn with how little I can control how much danger she’s about to be in. 

“I think I have to go get a different sword,” I shrug towards Arvid where he’s having a similar hushed conversation with Aurelia, disguised as making out. Or…nope, they aren’t talking anymore, they’re just making out. Gross. I shake my head and look back at Fuse. "I was right about my Dad’s sword not being right anyway, Arvid wanted it and he should have it because I don’t even like swords, and it’s not a ceremonial sword anyway. Plus, if we’re getting married, I’m doing some things right, like properly robbing a grave.“ 

"Why are you telling me this?” She frowns, hand on my shoulder, stroking down my arm. 

“Because I meant what I said about wanting to include my Dad here, but I think that means wanting to include his family, which means I’ve got to go up North to get that new sword. And I was kind of hoping you would help cover for me, at least for the next twelve hours until we’re far enough out to lose a tail.” I explain and she’s quiet, her grip on my arm a little tighter. 

“You mean…you want my help?” 

“Of course I want your help,” I cautiously look at Aurelia, who shakes her head at me but seems otherwise on board, “do you think I’d trust Aurelia and only Aurelia with something like this?” 

“Of course,” she looks down at her belly again, a bit sheepish, “and I thought between the babies and the fact we’re getting married, I wouldn’t get to be part of secret plans anymore.” 

“That’s crazy,” I kiss her on the cheek, “you’re the most important part of all my secret plans. You want to know why?” Maybe I’m flirting. Maybe I’m building her up a little bit because I hate that I didn’t do it enough for so long. "It’s because you can handle my mom and she can’t read your mind like she can with the rest of us.“ I kiss her forehead for good measure and one corner of her mouth quirks into half a smile. 

"How long will you be gone?” 

“Arvid says it’s about three days one way, so a week, maybe a little longer, but I really hope not.” A week. I don’t like hearing it like that, I’ve been gone for too many weeks lately. Fuse must feel the same because her face falls. "I don’t have to–“

"I think you do,” she nods, “you still have stitches, though.” 

“It’s almost healed, it turns out sleeping for a solid day will do that,” I try to comfort her, but it doesn’t really stick, “I’ll be careful, Arvid is going with me, we already decided on a longer route to avoid trouble. You don’t have to worry.” 

She narrows her eyes into some semblance of her most terrifying focus, but there’s a twitch in her lips I don’t quite recognize before she kisses me too quickly before pulling back to stare importantly in my eyes. Having Fuse’s full focus on me is like juggling fireballs and I blink, swallowing hard and wishing I could kick the random assortment of siblings out of the room. 

“Want to make a deal?” 

I’m too caught off balance to do anything but nod. Fuse doesn’t gamble, she tends to only make moves that lead to outcomes she fully understands. 

“I’ll cover for you,” she pokes my chest with a gentle but pointy finger, “but you don’t get hurt. I mean it, not a scratch.” 

“What constitutes a scratch?” I pause, “like, if I’m fishing and jab myself with a hook or something–”

“No bleeding,” she kisses me, “no bruising. No scrapes or torn clothes or burns or–”

“Ok, I get it.” I laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I won’t get hurt. But, just out of curiosity towards your new deal-making talents, I have to ask, what happens if I do get hurt?” 

She falters at that, “I’ll be disappointed.” 

“You,” I hold her face in both hands and kiss her as I stand up, “are going to be a terrifying mom. I promise. No bleeding.” 

“Or burning, or–”

“I get it, no getting hurt. No injuring myself whatsoever, or letting anyone else inflict injuries onto me,” I take my axe off its hooks by the door and pat my pocket for my knife. I’ve got blankets and furs in Bang’s saddle bags, along with a few fishhooks. "I love you, thank you, and I’ll be back.“ 

"Where are you going?” Stoick asks from his seat in front of the fire and Aurelia opens her mouth to divert him. 

“He’s going to talk to my dad about wedding things,” Fuse beats her to it, nodding importantly at me. She’s so smart, that adds a good hour head start of trying to get anything other than nonsense out of her dad if anyone does try to follow us. 

“He needs an axe for that?” Stoick asks as I open the door. 

“He needs an axe for everything,” Aurelia scoffs and somehow, it’s the perfect sendoff. 

I meet Arvid at the barn, where he silently tosses me a bag of what feels like food, and as we take off and head North, following cloud coverage along the shore until we’re free of the point, it occurs to me that this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt safe leaving. Like everything below and behind is under control even without me.


	25. Chapter 17

I can’t say traveling with Arvid is just like old times, because I don’t think we ever had a multi-day trip just the two of us with no real danger hanging overhead, but it’s like I wish old times had been. We sleep a few hours in the afternoon and fly mostly at night, because campfires are easier to avoid than people hidden in dense pine forest. On the morning of our third day, pine gives way to ice and occasional brush land and Arvid signals that we’re getting close. I don’t know how he knows, considering the only other time he came here it was by boat, but after only a couple false starts and wrong turns, he zeroes in on a tiny village at the mouth of a river alongside an icy bay. 

We land on a nearby hill where a small copse of trees can at least mostly hide the dragons and he points at a shallow valley behind the village. 

“Dad disappeared that direction for a while last time we were getting tattooed, said he had to pay some respects and because no relatives came to meet me, I assume that’s where the tombs are.” His tone is somber in a way I struggle to place, until I remember what else was going on in our lives the last time he was here. Mom had just married the chief. He wasn’t talking to me because I’d jumped him for insulting Mom. 

Maybe this adventure can heal that too, or at least smooth out some of the scar tissue that might be left. 

“Alright, let’s get to it.” 

“Wait a second,” he stops me and points at the Berk insignia holding my furs on. "I grabbed some of Dad’s old clothes.“ 

"Good plan.” Even if all of the clothes aren’t from here, most of them aren’t from Berk either. They’re covered in patterns I only vaguely recognize and none of them are that distinctive Berk green or red or blue that so much of our clothing is dyed. Everything seems to be more of a natural wool, and my hair stands out like fire against it. I pull up a furry hood and tuck as much back as possible, but there’s no helping the beard. 

What I don’t expect is for the clothes to almost fit. Sure, they’re baggy, and I almost don’t mind that because it’ll be easier to slip a sword underneath, but I would have expected to be swimming in Dad’s clothes. Arvid must notice the same thing, because he looks at me strangely as he yanks at a jacket that’s a little tight on him. 

It makes me feel older, somehow, more ready for what I’m about to do, both here and back home. I wonder if Mom is freaking out yet, but I’m sure Fuse is handling it fine. I miss her, of course, but the fact that I won’t have to for much longer makes it easier, like I’m racing towards a finish line after months or years spinning out in the last leg of the race. 

“Trade?” I offer my own borrowed layer and he nods. The switch is a bit better on both of us, and I think I still have room for a modest armory of a single ceremonial sword. Arvid looks bigger somehow, foreign in a way he doesn’t feel anymore and I nod. "I hope the runes look the same, because that’s the only way we’re finding the tomb.“ 

"We’ll just open them all until we see a family resemblance,” he jokes and I snort. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.” I hadn’t truly thought through the implication of showing up outside another village and rooting through their grave sites, but it’s too late to think about that now. Or it won’t help anything. I just need to get the sword. "Let’s go.“ 

We briefly skirt the edge of the village, and Arvid risks a nod at a few almost familiar faces as I pull my hood down further over my face. They wave back and I shake my head at him when we’re clear of the last few houses. He shrugs, that easy grin that’s the perfect accompaniment to Aurelia’s easy diplomatic lies stretching across his face. 

The first tombs aren’t very far from the village but they’re old, the runes on the small plaques in the hill face worn almost smooth. It’s more like they were placed far away hundreds of years ago and in the centuries since, the village has slowly crept closer. The newer tombs are a little harder to see, placed more creatively around rocks and set into shallow caves. Arvid is curious, tracing over names and with a gloved hand, but I feel very strongly like I’m not supposed to be here, like I’m being watched. I don’t see what I’m looking for so much as I feel it, around a small corner that heavy forbidden feeling relaxes. I look almost directly at a carved stone half hidden by some dry branches. 

It’s my name. The runes a little different, angles less sharp, words underneath it spelled so that I don’t quite recognize them, but my name is clear. Nothing after it. 

"Over here,” I wave at Arvid, crunching through the knee high snow and breaking the branches off to get at the age-sealed edge of the stone. It feels weird to do this in the middle of the day, on Berk it’s always the night before the wedding, and I wish I had a torch for ambiance or something. 

“Let’s hope Eret wasn’t as common of a name a few decades ago,” Arvid jokes, the edge he lost on the flight up here reappearing for a brief second as he hands me a sturdy branch to pry with. I wedge it against the edge of the stone and it takes a couple angles until it shifts. Then it moves too fast, falling on the ground and cracking a wedge off of the corner. "Sorry grandpa,“ Arvid mutters to himself, taking the branch back and carefully picking up the plaque. 

The skeleton in the tomb is covered in mostly disintegrated cloth and I touch it with a careful hand before looking over my shoulder. The tombs on Berk are opened from the top or they’re large enough to enter, I’m not sure how to get at what is inside of this one. Arvid shrugs and I look back at the half rotted away boot on a skeleton foot before sighing. 

"I’m just going to stick my head in and see if there’s a sword.” For the first time ever, I miss my previous scrawniness as I edge carefully into the tomb beside the bones, leaning hard on my elbow and trying to ignore the pull of nearly healed stitches in my arm. There’s a glint, barely visible and blocked when I move my head just wrong, but a definite glint. I reach for it, wincing when I wobble and accidentally grab a long dried arm bone for balance.

Thank you, namesake. Grandpa doesn’t make sense without context, but I appreciate the support all the same. 

“Eret,” Arvid hisses, smacking my hip as my feet lift slightly off of the ground in my attempt to reach for the sword. 

“Just a second, I’ve almost got it.” I barely avoid planting my face into a ribcage covered in stringy, cold preserved leather, “and don’t jostle me when I’m snuggled up against a dead guy.” 

He says something else but I don’t quite hear it because my arm is against my ear as I stretch to grab…a blade. Yes. I’ve got it. I pull it carefully towards myself, ancient fabric tearing around a worn and battered blade. It’s corroded in the middle, pockmarked with rust that makes it feel more historic as I carefully slide it into the collar of my coat, tucking the point into a seal skin lined pocket by my waist. 

“Ok, you can pull me out–”

Arvid takes the suggestion with unnecessary force, yanking me by my leg and throwing me face down into the snow. He lands on top of me, straddling my waist and gathering my wrists in his hand behind my back. The sword in my coat digs into my layers of shirts and if it were sharper, it would be cutting where I don’t want to be cut. As it is, it’s just bruising me, making it hard to breathe where it digs into my ribs. Was he this jealous about Dad’s sword? I don’t think so, especially because I handed it over. 

“Got him!” He announces to someone else before leaning down and whispering in my ear, “did you get it?” 

“Yes, if you’re going to steal it you’d have to roll me over.” I kick at him but all the heavy clothes are in the way and he’s securely seated, one hand on the back of my neck, pressing my face into the snow. 

“Keep it hidden, we got caught, play along.” 

“Is it playing along if I tell you to stop crushing me?” I wheeze, trying to kick him again and getting a mouthful of snow for the trouble. 

“Hey, don’t worry, I’ve got him.” Arvid announces, standing up and yanking me to my feet with his grip on my wrists. It’s tight but nothing I couldn’t break out of and I resist the urge to do exactly that. I should trust him, plus, if I tried anything, the sword might fall out of my furs and get abandoned if we had to flee. I have to blink a few times to see the group of men approaching us clearly through the ice encrusted on my eyelashes. There’s eight or nine of them, maybe and they’re holding spears in our direction, but they lower slightly when they see Arvid, his tattoos almost matching some of the group’s. "Trying to hide in my grandfather’s grave after I chased him down here.“ 

"Your grandfather?” One of the men raises their spear, “I don’t recognize you.” 

“I do,” another frowns and scratches under his chin with a short sword, its craftsmanship familiar to the one under my coat that’s currently cold on the bruise it made. I think my cheek might be scraped too, from stone or ice I’m not sure, and I’m going to personally make Arvid explain himself to Fuse. 

“My father, Eret son of Eret brought me here a few years ago,” Arvid lets go of my wrists with one hand to point at his chin and I almost throw him again. He seems to sense my plan and tightens his grip, giving me a warning look.

“What are you doing here now?” The guy in front with the largest spear, presumably the leader, asks and Arvid stands up straighter, flaunting the inches he has on the man. 

“You’re asking me what I’m doing here when I just caught a thief in my grandfather’s grave?” He says it with such conviction that apparently none of them think to press the issue further, which is a relief for all of a couple minutes of frozen marching, until it becomes obvious where they’re marching me to. 

“That looks like a dragon cage turned jail cell,” I hiss at him, tugging experimentally on his grip. I don’t want to break it if he doesn’t want me to, because then my other captors might tie my hands with something more serious. 

“Just play along,” he whispers, “I promised Thorston I’d get you home un-injured, and I don’t think that’s going to happen if we take on eight men without our dragons.” 

“So you’re going to lock me up?” 

“If I have to,” he pushes me forward a little harder than necessary, just to make me trip, and I catch the men looking at us. I struggle for a moment, just for show, and Arvid yanks me back upright with a hand on my shoulder. "I’ll grab the keys and get you later. Keep the sword hidden and don’t do anything stupid until then.“ 

"Stupid? When am I stupid?” I elbow him, probably harder than I need to for show, and he coughs before handing me over to two of the guys who try to be rougher than he was. They half succeed, mostly they just grab handfuls of layers of Dad’s old clothes as they toss me into the cage. I’m glad I’m wearing so much now because the room has a hard rocky floor and the late fall sun isn’t anywhere near as high as I’d like it to be. 

The front door of the converted jail slams shut behind the group, Arvid included, and I sigh, hitting my head on the bars in frustration and aiming to hit the lock before realizing how wide the warped, rusty metal would split my knuckles. Fuse doesn’t make exceptions. 

Even if this is going to be a long, cold night. 

00000

The first and only time Aurelia got kidnapped, I found her in a dragon cage on some asshole trapper’s boat. Everyone else thought it was the crony we’d been dealing with, dancing around in the non-fatal chief style for months, but I had a hunch things were escalating. Well, it wasn’t so much a hunch as it was the fact that Arvid was inconsolable and liable to get himself killed if he stepped up the chain of command, so I did it. 

That was the first day I realized that only some people will talk. Some people just aren’t made for compromise, and when I was alone on a boat with one such person who was in command of about twenty who might listen to reason, my decision to…end discussions came more easily than I would have thought it could. 

Aurelia threw up, I still think it’s why she dove so stubbornly into diplomacy. If she talks fast enough, she doesn’t have to see inside of anyone’s lung, theoretically. 

Anyway, the reason that this stupid stony jail cell has me thinking about that day is I remember so clearly being irritated when I landed that Aurelia was still in the cage. It was built for Nadders or maybe Gronckles, and the bars were practically as far apart as her shoulders were wide. She could have turned sideways and gotten out at literally any time, but I had to explain that to her while she dry heaved and tried not to look at the bloody puddle that used to be the biggest up and coming dragon trapper in the archipelago. 

She later explained that she stayed in the cage because the trappers couldn’t get in, and she didn’t have a weapon or a dragon so there was no point in escaping, but I don’t have either of those concerns now. I have Dad’s dad’s old corroded sword, which probably couldn’t cut anything, but it’s heavy enough to bludgeon with, and if I could just get outside, I could call Bang. Even if I couldn’t, we didn’t leave him that far away, I could make a run for it. 

But I don’t fit. 

The bars look far apart. I didn’t even wait until nightfall to try at first, pressing my shoulder against a gap and expecting the layers of clothes to compress and bunch and ultimately let me through, but I had no luck. Now, it’s finally late enough that I don’t think anyone is dropping by to give the poor prisoner some dinner, so I start taking off layers, folding them carefully to hide the sword and shivering as I get down to my undershirt. I push my shoulder again against the space between two bars and get a little further, arm slipping through past my armpit until the cold, rusted metal introduces itself to my collarbone and back, not quite at my spine. 

I turn my head and press my face between the bars to push harder. My head fits, barely, but it does. My chest doesn’t move, though, and the rust bites into my collarbone, scraping enough that my shirt starts to tear and I yank my arm back. There’s no blood in the hole, just a little reddened skin I won’t have to explain to Fuse, and I sit down on my pile of clothes with a huff. 

Picking the lock with the sword is a no go and I can’t get enough of a running start to bust the gate open, as rusty as the lock is. I get excited for a second when I find Fuse’s gifted smoke bombs in a deep pocket of my original clothes, but I think they’ve gone bad or something because the color is different. I still try and light them, first by sparking the sword against the wall and then by ripping off a piece of my sleeve and laboriously getting it to light, then holding the fire to the unraveling wicks. They fizzle out almost immediately with a rotten smell but no smoke and I throw one at the wall in frustration. It sparks, uselessly, the place it impacted chipping off to reveal a red clay color underneath, which I take to be the definite sign of a bomb gone bad. 

Sleeping isn’t an option. Not only am I not tired, but there’s nothing remotely comfortable in this cell. The couple of slices of bread that a sullen kid drops off at first light could be a pillow, I guess, because the moldy crust prevents them from being food. Maybe I’m spoiled from living in the chief’s house, but I’m not keen on a moldy bed either.

Mostly I have too much time to think. About Fuse and the fact that we’re engaged and the fact that for the first time in a long time, there’s a future that I want to get back to. About the chief’s advice and going after what I want and how horribly it is currently going for me. Except I also wouldn’t be where I am without it, there wouldn’t be a house and a future on the horizon and…well, it’s a vortex I can sink some thought into. Approximately two days of thought, judging by the volume of my stomach’s growls when I assess each morning’s moldy bread as I watch a tiny square of sun make its way across the floor, even though the light makes me feel colder. 

Where is Arvid with the fucking keys? 

Briefly, on the third morning, I wonder if he left without me, especially with the sword and the tackling. Nothing in the last four years would lead me to that conclusion, but the last four days? Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe I don’t count on anyone but Fuse to be bedrock during changing times, but she’s understandably not up to it so I’m drifting. I want to be wrong. 

I jump up when the door slams open, rattling rust off the bars over the tiny window. 

“I didn’t do it!” Arvid shouts as the same kid who brings my bread shoves him through the makeshift prison door, his hands bound with thick rope, his eye swelling a shiny pink. 

“Tell that to my dad,” the kid grumbles under his breath as he gives me a wary look, one hand flitting to the keys on his belt. 

Arvid could get out of that hold, but he doesn’t. I hope it’s part of a plan and hold my hands up in silent surrender, taking a step back from the gate. I could dash out, but I don’t think I could take the kid with how easy it would be to use Arvid as a shield. I can also hear voices outside, and as much as my clearing out the Thorston pantry and then sleeping a solid day in Fuse’s bed perked me up, the last few days without food or sleep are catching up to me. 

My brother’s stumble isn’t necessarily exaggerated when the kid pushes him into the cell and locks the door behind him, but I freeze until we’re alone and the voices outside go silent. 

“Moldy bread?” I gesture to one of the plates still by the gate and my stomach growls. So helpful. 

“I’m good, thanks.” 

“No keys, I take it.” 

He blinks, “I’ll pull them out of my ass if you untie me.” 

I laugh at that, the tension half-melting. It’s not quite the bottom or top half though, it’s one of the sides and obviously asymmetrical, because the atmosphere teeters and finds a new upright. 

“These knots are…a mess,” I struggle with the rope, pulling a little too hard and flinching as Arvid’s vaguely blue thumb jolts. He was struggling as they tied him up, apparently, “I’d cut it loose but we might need the rope.” 

“Planning a grand escape?” 

“Always,” I sigh, “looks like a rope-less one though.” The corroded sword cuts a surprisingly effortless path through the rope and the shreds fall to the floor as Arvid flexes his hand. Honestly, the pile is a more appealing pillow than the bread and I almost contemplate it for a second. "Better?“ 

"Not really,” Arvid half smiles, exhausted as he turns away to press his swelling face against the hard stone wall, “almost as good as ice, right?” 

“I guess,” I lean by back against the wall next to his face, glancing casually at him. I’m mostly glad for someone to talk to, but I’m also really glad that it’s him, weird tension aside. "Who did that?“ 

"Jailer’s wife made a move,” he snorts and I roll my eyes. "I’m serious, I was trying to get the keys and she offered a deal. Apparently, I’m still pretty good looking by Dad’s hometown standards.“ There’s that jealous look again, but it’s hollow. Not even tired, just…expired, like a log that’s too charred to keep burning. 

"Did you do it?” I ask even though I already know the answer and it’s his turn to dismiss me, standing up to carefully poke at his swelling eye. 

“She told her husband I did because I didn’t, so…no luck with the keys, do you have a plan?” 

“Time travel about five years into the past and fit through the bars,” I shrug, “I tried a few times, but no luck. Maybe another week avoiding moldy bread and cutting off an ear would do it, but Fuse would never forgive me.” It’s meant to get a laugh but Arvid deflates instead, slumping down against the wall, staring at the ceiling. 

“It’s really hard to be pissed at someone so clueless, you know?” 

“I don’t,” I shove cold hands into my pockets, fiddling with Fuse’s ruined smoke bombs. "I’m usually the most clueless.“ 

"You and Mom,” he sighs, “you two trade off.” 

“How hard did you get hit?” I laugh. 

He looks at me seriously, exhausted, and I recognize some version of Aurelia’s most cutting, honest face. The one that only comes out when she’s too preoccupied to unpack my nonsense in to neat piles. Arvid’s version is more mallot than dagger though and I steel myself. 

“You know, sacrificing yourself isn’t without casualties.” 

“Aren’t you the one who tackled me and lied about your involvement in my scheme and it led to me being here?” I raise an eyebrow but he doesn’t notice or more likely, doesn’t care. "What’s your problem? You’ve been weird ever since Dad gave me his sword. Am I facing another coup, because if so, you need to starve and not sleep for a couple days before I’m willing to call anything even–“

"I know my place,” Arvid cuts me off, sharp and definite, “trust me–”

“Sorry if you ordering me to trust you doesn’t have the desired effect–”

“It’s not an order,” he sighs, probing the swelling under his eye, “it’s just hard watching you get everything, alright? I’m over it–I mean, I’m dealing with it.” He swallows hard and shrugs a broad shoulder, “badly.” 

“Watching me get everything?” I snort, gesturing to the cell, “right, a dank, freezing jail, everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Before you go back to your life and your family and your future marriage to the woman you love,” he hits his head against the wall and sighs like it’s the last ounce of deflation. “And your job that’s neatly waiting for you, all responsibilities listed out.” 

Oh. 

“That wasn’t umm, what I was expecting,” I sit down next to him, back against the same wall, one leg extended with my hands folded over my knee. I don’t feel as casual as I’m trying to look and I clear my throat, “do you want to talk about it?” 

“About your future chiefdom?” His lip curls and the muscle under his eye twitches, which brings him right back to sad. That’s going to be a nasty bruise and I passively worry how big the jailer is. 

“I talk about that enough,” I shrug, bumping his shoulder with mine, “whine about it, mostly. So much that I forgot to ask if you were upset about anything, apparently.” 

“You do that.” 

I think about Fuse and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, “yeah. I’m working on it.” 

“It’s not that you do everything wrong,” Arvid thumps a heavy hand on my shoulder, “it’s that somehow, I do everything right and it doesn’t seem to matter.” 

“What are you talking about?” I laugh, “you’re the only one of us that Mom trusts to be an actual adult.” 

“Is it trust?” He doesn’t want an answer and I don’t nod, “or was Mom just the first one to forget where I fit?” 

“She trusts you,” it comes out flat and Arvid sees right through me to what I haven’t fully verbalized yet. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He sounds like Fuse, and I hate that I’ve become someone that people are scared to lean on. “Not—it’s good that she trusts me, it makes it easier. For you.” He laughs, “which is what matters, I know—”

“From where I sit, nothing seems very easy,” I gesture at the wall in front of us, the sun dipping below the small, dingy windowsill and shepherding in another long, cold night. “It’s funny though that you say you don’t know where you fit, because I just told Fuse that you’re co-chief’s wife, because she’s nervous about that, apparently.” 

“I’ll be a Thorston-Mom translator,” he snorts, miserable but at least talking, “that sounds like a full time job.” 

“It’s yours whether you want it or not.” I follow his lead and relax a little bit, “you’re already kicking ass at managing all of us, which is basically Mom’s job aside from being married to the chief, and unless there’s something you need to tell me about your feelings…” I joke, gesturing to myself and he sighs. 

“I hate that Dad gave you his sword.” 

It’s better than another confession but it still hits me like a physical blow. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well…uh, do you want to talk about it?” I prod, trying not to look at the empty sheath where Dad’s sword was. I saw him leave it with Wingspark before I got captured and I’m assuming it’s still there, but it’s absence is like a presence in and of itself. 

“Not really,” Arvid scoots closer to me, notching his shoulder over mine against the wall. “I’m tired, it’s cold.” 

“You aren’t too mad to huddle for warmth, that’s a good sign.” I’m more relieved than I let on when I scoot closer, the bubble between us where Dad’s sword should be the only warm patch I’ve felt in days. 

“I’m not mad,” he shuts his eyes, obviously not asleep but not daring me to call him out either, “there’s no one to be mad at.”

“I get that feeling.” The place I used to use to deflect everything at the chief is as empty as Arvid’s belt and I let my eyes close, at least for a few hours. 

00000

I dream about cribs in a prison cell while Dad’s sword glows red hot from a fire I can’t see, emanating from my side where Arvid hit me all those years ago. When I wake up, Arvid is slumped over my lap, arms too tight around my legs as he uses my thighs as a pillow. My nose is numb from cold and my toes are numb from my brother’s massively heavy head and I try to shake him loose, my breath foggy in the gray morning light. 

“Arvid.” 

“Mmph,” he presses his face into my leg, “five more minutes.” 

I shake his shoulder and he looks up with a sleepy squint, staring at me for a second before remembering where he is and frowning. He sits up a little too quickly, brushing dust from his front and trying to straighten his hair. The bruise around his eye is fully black in the corner and blue-purple around the edges and it makes him look younger the way his sheepish expression does, like he’s been caught after picking a bad fight. 

“I would have let you sleep, but chances of keeping all my toes are already less than ideal, considering what serves for a blade right now,” I joke, awkwardly standing up and pacing to get warm. Arvid examines Eret the Original’s sword pensively, tracing a battle-faded inscription along the flat of the blade.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want this one too,” he says when he catches me staring. 

“I wasn’t worried,” I shrug, “that one, I’ve definitely earned.” 

“You chose it,” he sets it down, “you could have had any Hofferson or Haddock sword on Berk, but you chose Dad.” His smile is sad and pensive, and a little sheepish still, daring me to cut him off. “And as always, he chose you.” 

“Well,” I swallow, gesturing at him and seeing nothing more than a young version of Dad, less heroic in reality than he would be in the story when he retold it later. Or not less heroic, just more real, more alive instead of a living legend. “He doesn’t have to choose you, it’s obvious.” 

He shrugs. 

We both look so much like our dads that sometimes, when I look at him, all I see is Mom. I hope he feels the same. 

“I guess I know what obvious feels like, and I’m not a fan of it either.” I sigh, running my hand back through my tangled mess of hair. Somehow, needing a bath is what makes me miss home. Or maybe it’s the feeling of being assumed, and I’m a hypocrite for missing it right when Arvid is explaining how he doesn’t have it. Mostly though, I suddenly miss Fuse, everything I’ve held off due to necessity threatening to knock me back. “I’m sorry—”

“And then there’s the house,” he smiles, “which is ironic, because I’m the one responsible for spoiling you there.” 

“The house? What’s up with the house?” I cock my head, “does it have an interior hot spring or a never ending bread cabinet or something? Axe storage for twenty?” 

“It’s not going to feel empty,” he shakes his head, the last of the tension melting into a miserable fog around him, hovering above the frozen ground. “Four years with two people in a house meant for six starts to get a little quiet.” 

All of the sleep and time to think has meant something, because the concept clicks immediately. 

“The babies.” 

“Right? Plural. Two of them.” He sighs, “it’s not that you do everything wrong, but when you do, it always turns out so right for you.” 

“And you do everything right.” 

“Well, I don’t think there’s a wrong way to do that.” 

“What do you—oh Gods, no, I’m trying to have a heart to heart with you and—”

“I had to,” he tosses a pebble at me and it bounces off of my forehead, “you should see your face.” 

“I don’t need to, I’m betting it’s projecting horror and disgust and I just meant you got betrothed and then married in that order, not—can you throw up after not eating for however many days? Because I might try—”

“Who else am I going to talk to about this stuff? Rolf?” He’s a little pleading, a little joking, and I can’t deny that I owe him after apparently rubbing something like this in his face, even if I didn’t know. “He’d give me a pamphlet in Latin or something.” 

“You could try Ingrid, she’d give you…I don’t know, a map to nearly abandoned boats with free babies on them.” I sit back down next to him, doing my best fake placid and hoping it’ll translate inward eventually. “How long have you felt like this?” 

“Finn didn’t help things,” he scuffs his toe on the ground, “how is it that Ingrid rejects absolutely everything she’s supposed to do and somehow, she’s happy with Smitelout and a two year old?” 

“Because she’s Ingrid,” I laugh, “you talk about me getting everything.” 

“True, she’s the real favorite.” He lacks the weight of his secret, “I hate to break it to you but I think she’s even the chief’s favorite. Well, and Snotlout’s.” 

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I laugh, “I kept wondering if Snotlout would take in another unconventional duo just so that Fuse and I could sleep in the same bed. And I bet if I threw in grandpa bragging rights, he would have done it.” 

“Aurelia says we have time.” Arvid’s voice carries a dismal hint of sarcasm that’s more mine than anyone else’s and I remember my own conversation with Aurelia, offering her my kids if I start messing them up too bad. “Maybe this will change her mind, at any minute I could be locked up for life and she’ll want someone to remember me by.” 

“Uh, I know that we’re having brother time right now and pretending you didn’t remind me that you’re married to my sister—”

“I’m not pretending.” He teases and I shake my head. 

“No, I—that’s something you need to talk to her about—”

“What did she tell you?” Arvid’s reaction makes my heart throb for Fuse, because it’s the same obsessive worry I feel whenever I let myself think about her. It’s the same pull, the one that makes the prison bars look like rusted matchsticks. “She talked to you? About kids?” 

“We share issues.”

“What did she say? Is she ok? Why isn’t she telling me?” The pain is familiar too, the shame-tinted grief I felt when I learned Fuse hadn’t been telling me everything. 

I shake my head, “that’s all I should tell you, it’s not—you know, as much as my history surrounding Aurelia still perturbs me,” I tread lightly, “mostly it seems really messed up for me to moderate relationship talk as both your siblings.” 

He doesn’t hear me, not in any way that would matter, because he’s on his feet, rattling the bars with force that makes the rust flake to the floor. 

“Have you tried to pick the lock?” He takes the ceremonial sword and gouges the tip trying to shove it into the lock. 

“Hey, be careful with that.” I try to take it back but he drops it on the floor, narrowing his eyes at the gate. 

“I could bust that open.” 

“I tried that, yes, after picking the lock didn’t work—“

“Youtried it, alright,” he plants his foot against the wall to build up more speed as he takes two running steps and slams his shoulder into the rusty gate. It clangs like an orchestral sentry, the lock taking the high notes as the tumblers inside clatter around. 

“That’s really loud.” 

“Well, I hit it really hard,” he rolls his shoulder and sets up to try it again. 

“Whoa there,” I put a hand on his shoulder and he nudges it off, a little too hard, “hey!” 

“You might be content to let Stoick claim your kids while you—fuck!” He cuts himself off, “I don’t mean that, I just—”

“You’re worried, it’s fine,” I kick a plate of moldy bread and it skids harmlessly under the bars, clattering against the door, “thinking about Fuse is killing my appetite as much as the potential food poisoning. We need to get out of here, I just think doing it without drawing the attention of multiple people massive enough to do that,” I gesture at his eye, “is probably a good idea.” 

His jaw flexes and he glares at the door a second before nodding, “you said you tried to fit.” 

“I did, I don’t fit,” I assure him and he cocks his head. 

“I bet I could make you fit.” 

“I…don’t know if I like the sound of that,” I stare at him for a second before starting to take off layers. “But I don’t see any other options at the moment.” 

“Take off the sweater,” he holds his hands out to take my clothes, tossing them on the floor to cover the ceremonial sword. Fuse’s ruined smoke bombs fall out of my inner pocket and roll to the back corner. “Wait! Those are Thorston’s, you had them the whole time?” 

“I’ve had them for months, they’ve been soaked about half a dozen times,” he grabs my arm when I don’t move fast enough, maneuvering me against two of the wider set bars. It’s different than where I tried and maybe a few days without food will matter. “You think bombs wouldn’t be the first thing I’d try if I had them?” 

“I never know with you,” he laughs, waiting for me to get my foot against the base. My feet aren’t going to be the problem and I can kick off my boots as need be, but the first squeeze I feel mid-foot still makes me nervous. 

“If I say stop—“

“I’ll stop,” he pushes gently when the gap introduces itself to my collarbone again, “it’s so close.” 

“Yeah, how close is close if I leave my nose behind and Fuse kills both of us?” I squawk when he shoves on the back of my head, “bad angle, that’s not gonna—ouch!”

“You’re being louder than the gate,” he grunts, knee against my hip and the gap pinches my pelvis where I don’t want to be pinched. I squeak and kick backwards at him.

“If you want nieces and nephews—”

“I’ll already have a spare,” he eases up when he jokes but it makes me laugh anyway and my chest expands into the gap, pinching my stomach. I squeak again. “Exhale—”

“That won’t get my ribs out of the way, fuck—”

The door opens and the jailer’s son drops a plate of moderately more moldy bread than usual on the floor, teenage face wide eyed in shock. 

“Uhh,” I cough, “I don’t fit.” 

“Yeah,” Arvid yanks me back with a tug that feels like it scrapes all the hair off of half of the front of my body and I yelp. “He’s been bulking up on the bread.”

“Yeah,” I wheeze, “it’s dense. Nutritious.” 

The kid slams the door behind him as he presumably runs to get bigger guards. 

“Well, they know now,” Arvid says quietly before flinging himself against the gate again. It breaks partway free of the roof, along with the whole strip of wall. “Help me,” he tosses me my coat for padding and I shrug into it, counting to three with him and throwing my own shoulder against the wall near the corner, where it’s stubbornly holding on.

Once. Twice. Three times makes my whole arm sing, my no bruises rule falling away as I remember the stitches I haven’t dealt with as they yank and sting. 

Arvid beats me to four by a half a second and the bars fall down, Arvid crashing onto them with me following a second behind, clutching my arm. Two things happen at once. First, the door starts to open, a single spearhead poking its way through the gap. Second, the wall of bars falls against the door entirely and bends under my brother and my combined weight, folding in a neat corner against the floor and jamming the door shut. 

Guards start pounding at the door but I roll onto my back, head uncomfortable against the bars as I rub my shoulder. Arvid jumps up and starts pacing like a caged Rumblehorn. 

“Hey, it’s ok, they can’t get in.” 

“And we can’t get out,” he kicks the bars holding the door shut and I sit up slowly, “what are we going to do?” 

“We’ll figure it out,” I might imagine the dragon sounds outside. Bang’s warble, Wingspark’s frantic squeal at the sight of weapons in the hands of people she doesn’t know. I don’t imagine the weapons against the door, clanging dully as unfamiliar voices rise into a familiar angry wave. 

“How? The window?” He points at the tiny window, “Gods, I wish Aurelia were here. For so many reasons.” He tugs at his hair and my stomach hurts with how much I feel the same. 

“I wish Fuse were here.” 

“She couldn’t fit through there,” he snorts, gesturing at the bars, “not now, at least—”

“No, I mean I wish Fuse were here with some firepower.” 

I definitely hear Bang now, his blast making the air in the cell blur in familiar rings of compression and speed. I see Fuse’s smoke bombs in slow motion, rolling with the blast to the corner of the room and leaking odd red smoke that I don’t recognize. 

“What the—”

“Get down!” I shout at Arvid, clapping my hands over my ears as Bang blasts again.

The bombs slam into the wall and everything is loud and white and dust.


	26. Chapter 17.1

_Fuse POV_

 

One hour after Eret leaves, his mom asks Fuse where he is.  Fuse refrains from mentioning that she would have saved everyone a lot of grief and time if she’d asked Fuse the last time Eret was missing.  Fuse’s silence is half an attempt to mimic Arvid’s forced politeness and half because she’s not good with irony and Eret is actually gone this time. 

One day after Eret leaves, when the chief and Eret’s dad are searching in the wrong direction, Eret’s mom shows Fuse the house.  She says it’s not conventional to see it before the wedding, but seems to be coming to peace with the fact that nothing about this situation is conventional.  The house is closer to the Thorstons than the Haddocks and that means something, but not as much as the flame proof walls and heavy doors do.  The two cribs next to the bed make Fuse’s chest feel tight with something like worry.  The future feels more real than it has before, looking at Eret’s spare weapons hanging on the wall. 

One week after Eret leaves, his mom is starting to panic.  Fuse can only recognize it because it looks exactly like Eret’s panic, the obsessive taking care of everyone and inventing problems to solve.  It’s the first time the resemblance has been so obvious, but there’s no denying that Eret’s mom’s wide blue eyes are identical to the ones Fuse so often tasks herself with calming down.  They’re even the same shape, barely tilted up at the outer corners, naturally happy looking in a way that makes their glare more impressive for the effort it must take to turn them hard and stormy. 

“Sit down,” Fuse says reflexively as Eret’s mom starts cleaning the hearth for the third time today.  She looks up, stunned, and Fuse clears her throat, “I mean, do you want to sit down?” 

Orders calm Eret down more than questions, because questions just give him another thing to wrestle with, but that’s not a button worth pushing. 

“I’m fine, Fuse, can I get you anything?” 

“You can stop panicking.” 

Eret’s mom surprises them both when she laughs, dropping the rag she was just cleaning with and shaking her head. 

“Right, I’ll get you some tea.” 

“I don’t need tea,” Fuse looks at the half full mug in her hand.  “Panicking isn’t helping anything.” 

“I know that,” Eret’s mom sighs, “it’s just the only thing I can do aside from getting on Stormfly and going after my idiot sons myself.  What were they thinking?  Oh, I know, they  _weren’t_ , running off right now with you…”  She trails off, gesturing at Fuse’s stomach like it isn’t making itself very obvious without announcement.  “How aren’t you freaking out?” 

It took a long time for Fuse to learn that when Eret asks questions that sound rhetorical, he actually wants an answer.  He wants her to put words to the obvious, to the things that make so much sense to her that she’s never even thought to try and explain them. 

“Because it won’t help anything.” 

“You’re pregnant with the would be heirs to the throne of Berk, but you’re not married to the future chief yet because he’s gone doing Thor knows what.  Your entire life is going to be decided in the next couple months, you can’t be that calm.” 

Fuse shrugs.  The truth is she isn’t this calm.  She’s trying to keep from twitching, irritated fire in her too warm blood making her want to spark something.  She wants Eret back, she hates that she understands why he had to leave.  They both understand ingredients, the way that the right things have to come together to get the right result.  An Eret family sword is an ingredient in the wedding that has to happen so that they can get along with their marriage.  More than that, it’s a decision to keep respecting what makes each other most comfortable, no matter how weird or inconvenient or how much things are changing. 

“I trust him,” she answers simply, “he said he’d be back so he will.”

“What if something goes wrong?  What if he doesn’t come back?”  It’s a challenge that doesn’t sound like one.  Fuse knows she’s supposed to have a backup plan and she did until Eret made it so clear how much he wants this.  Plus, that was a backup plan for the babies, not for Eret.  Eret has always been her only plan. 

“He will.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“I don’t need to know it.”  It’s one of those things there don’t need to be words for.  “He said he’ll be back, so he will.” 

“That kind of blind faith,” she shakes her head and Fuse expects to be called naïve or stupid or weird, “is really brave.” 

“It’s not blind.”  Fuse sees Eret keep promises all the time, “I just expect him to act exactly like himself.” 

“And I keep expecting him to act like someone else,” Eret’s mom finally sits down, rubbing her temple with pale fingers. Fuse appreciates that she doesn’t follow up and ask for an answer that’s already been said too many times. 

“Knock knock,” Fuse’s dad says as he opens the front door of the Haddock house and steps inside. 

“Sure Tuff, come on in, make yourself at home,” Eret’s mom scoffs but she doesn’t jump up and back to cleaning like Fuse expects.  Maybe some of her Eret calming techniques do translate, and that thought makes her hopeful that the babies might like it too. 

Fuse has made quite a few babies cry, usually with loud noises or smoke or random fires, but she can’t remember managing to calm one down on her own. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Fuse’s dad goes in for a hug and she puts her hand out to stop him. 

“Dad, no.” 

“But you’re my favorite daughter who brought the promise of Thorstonton back to the family after…how many years ago did you support Hiccup in cruelly taking my family’s deserved land from us?” 

“I don’t know, thirty something?”  Eret’s mom has been hit by that post agitation exhaustion that Fuse knows so well and her sleepy energy is more soothing than Fuse would have expected. 

“After thirty something years of loss.”  Fuse’s dad continues, “that merits a hug.” 

“I’m your only daughter.” 

“Astute, as always,” he sits down perched on the edge of the hearth and claps his hands together, “so, any news on the runaway Haddock?  The lone fishy, navigating the archipelago alone with only a fish eating dragon for company?” 

“Arvid is with him.”  Fuse rolls her eyes. 

“I know, he’s the dragon in this scenario.” 

“Oh yeah, he sent a lovely terror mail this morning.”  Eret’s mom’s sarcasm sounds more like the chief’s than Eret’s, attack instead of defense, “do you want me to go get it so you can give it a read?” 

“Nope, I like the kid but he’s usually a little wordy for my taste.  And the adverbs, argh.”  He rubs his hands together, “any news on when he’s planning to come back though?” 

“There’s no letter, Dad.” 

“First my island and now my trust, when does it end, Astrid?  When will you stop taking?”  He’s louder than usual and Fuse realizes that he’s freaking out too.  “You know, at this rate, it’ll be my turn soon and I’ll just have to take Thorstonton by force.  Why do you think my sister had so many kids?” 

“Yeah and I’m pretty sure that would void the marriage contract that gives the island to you.” 

“There’s nothing in that contract about military coups.” 

“Yet.”  Eret’s mom raises an eyebrow. 

“He’ll be back.”  Fuse wastes the words, because neither parent’s underlying frown shifts. 

“I guess Hiccup always came back,” her dad shrugs. 

“He’s not Hiccup,” Eret’s mom shakes her head, looking between Fuse and her stomach and the empty axe rack on the wall by the door.  “Wait.”  She looks up suddenly, “I know where he is.” 

“So he did send a letter?” 

“No, he went up north,” she stands up, wiping her hands on her skirt, “he didn’t get to grave rob before Arvid’s wedding and he’s so Hel bent on something of his dad’s.  Help me find Eret,” she yanks Fuse’s dad to his feet. 

“I’m not going further north, it’s already winter and I have an autumnal complexion.” 

“No, Eret Sr.,” she looks back at Fuse, “am I right?  He told you, didn’t he?” 

“I said I’d keep the secret for him.”  The slight pout in Fuse’s voice is only because she’s pregnant. 

“You did,” Eret’s mom assures, “he tattled on himself, I was just…I’m still re-orienting how I look at him.”

“He’ll be back, you don’t have to go find him.”  It’s more real than a belief, it’s a fact, something so inherent to Fuse’s level ground that she’d never think about blowing it up. 

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be acting like myself.” 


End file.
